


Iridescent

by TalkingElephant



Category: Naruto
Genre: Butterfly Effect, Child Soldiers, Confused Nara Shikamaru, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ethnomedicine, Female Nara Shikamaru, Fuuinjutsu, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Mentor Nara Shikamaru, Period-Typical Sexism, Recreational Drug Use, Samurai, Time Travel, Uchiha Madara Being a Good Brother, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalkingElephant/pseuds/TalkingElephant
Summary: The first move is always a feint. It's the most basic thing, to land a hit with the second move – or in his case, the second life. Nara Shikamaru is reborn in a completely wrong time and wrong gender, where troubles manage to ensue and give him a monumental headache. Troublesome.





	1. Prologue: A Ghost in the Shell

_This man suffered too much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes, and then he would remain... _ _ " _

_ **Joseph Conrad**__**, ** _ _ **Heart of Darkness** _

* * *

Pain, all he felt was pain in his whole body.

He took a shallow breath and winced.

Damn, it _hurt._

He glanced at his left leg, where white bone protruded itself from what was left of his severed knee – painted by the crimson beauty that was his own blood – the token of his approaching end.

Wasn't it such a burlesque, that the one that others perceived as weak ended up to be the one who died the last?

Even Naruto, the troublesome blond who had grown to be so powerful, the one who had finally won everyone's respect, died in the final battle against Sasuke to erase the latter's so called 'Curse of Hatred' – _ironically_ after both of them teamed up to protect the Shinobi World from total destruction, signaling the new era of peace and all of that idealistic rubbish.

What a joke.

But still, they moved on. The deaths were buried or cremated. They rebuilt the village and they returned to their usual lives.

The same thing could not be said for him though.

Tsunade, the former Fifth Hokage, who had lost her mind in the midst of grieving for Naruto, had abandoned Konoha and fled into a place that only she knew of, causing a vacuum of power in Konoha.

Thus, came the Hokage appointment.

Every great village needed its leader after all, a.k.a. the sacrificial lamb that would have to die first in case something horrible endangered the village. Naturally, Kakashi was offered the position; however, the man was too drowned in self-pity, believing himself to be a disgrace and unworthy of the title as he had failed to protect his comrades, or _so he said_.

Things continued like that, bickering over who would be the next Hokage. Then one day, _he_, Nara Shikamaru, for a reason that even he was not sure of, was inaugurated as the Sixth Fire Shadow.

Although he did not want it, he acted professionally and fulfilled his Hokage's duty to the best of his ability. The least that he could do to honor the death was making sure that Konoha was in a good hand. Admittedly he felt quite lost at the beginning. There were too many problems to fix and too little manpower to use. It was by no mean an easy process, but slowly all of his efforts began to pay out as things went back to normal. Konoha was functioning again and the political climate of the Elemental Nation finally had a somewhat amiable atmosphere.

Shikamaru let himself be lulled into a false sense of security. He believed that the peace that each village kept on fighting for might not be so far-fetched after all.

For all of his geniuses, Shikamaru was still a fool. A naive fool.

Peace, after all, was a fragile thing. It was something that was hard to maintain without a powerhouse like Naruto keeping other villages in check. He could spy on his allies and kept a tight leash on his enemies if he wanted to; however, Shikamaru could not control human greed. He could not control that black bottomless pit that exhausted one's soul in an endless effort to satisfy one's need without ever reaching satisfaction. It was human nature to want more, to desire more, to seek more.

Thus, skirmishes at the borders happened again. A race to create military weapons followed them, causing the growing tension in the political atmosphere of the Elemental Nation.

Then the Fifth Shinobi War broke out. It was an all-out war between the Five Great Shinobi Villages.

Did not want to be left out, the Daimyōs and their allies, who were fed up with the shinobi, believing them to be the source of problems in Elemental Nation, formed another faction and joined the murder party where chaos and hell that was war ensued, causing poverty and economic collapse.

It was not the first time that Shikamaru thought that Madara and Obito, despite their rather misguided methods, were right after all. Man sought peace, yet at the same time yearned for war. The selfish desire of wanting to maintain said peace would cause wars, and in turn hatred would be born to protect love. It was an unending cycle of misery and death.

The war went on and on. There was no winner. _What's there to win when people keep on dying left and right? What's there to win when villages and cities alike are razed to the ground?_

It was as society began to crumble and people started to kill each other for food and survival that everyone realized what they had done.

They had destroyed themselves.

What was once a dignified and civilized race was reduced to a mere animal. Killing others became a daily occurrence, a somewhat normal routine even. It was to kill or be killed. There was no place for morals or compassion.

You wake up. You hunt. You sleep. Repeat.

How far the mighty have fallen.

_Pathetic_.

* * *

Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki – widely known as the Sage of Six Paths – stared at the place that was once called Elemental Nation. His expression was pensive.

Hagoromo had thought that one Uzumaki Naruto would finally bring peace into the world, succeeding where others had failed. However, the reality was very far from expectation, as the young Uzumaki was dead and the world was in the state of anarchy.

He wondered that if things had been different, would there have been peace in the world?

Could peace even exist?

Had his mother always been right after all?

His powerful gaze shifted to the floating spirit of the last Hokage.

Hagoromo felt pity for the man. The man's soul felt sad, lonely – empty. He had lost his faith in life and humanity. He had lost his belief in peace. He had given the world his best, he deserved a final rest. However, Hagoromo could not let that happen – not yet. Someone still had to fix the future.

Hagoromo had many things that he regretted in life. He had failed his duty as a father, he had failed his duty as a leader, and he had failed to bring peace that he had promised the world.

Hagoromo was already at the end of his wit and this man was his best gamble to make things right.

After all,it was only someone who was thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that could thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.

* * *

Shikamaru glared at the mirror with unrestrained hatred.

Why did Kami do this to him? Did the gods above hate him so much? What the hell did they want?!

He just wanted to die! Was that _too much_ to ask?

Not only was he a _weak_ and _helpless_ toddler who lived in the Warring State period – a miserable time where the mortality-rate was so high that children were taught how to kill once they knew how to walk and speak – someone who shoved him into this containment did not even have the decency to give him a male body. Apparently the dunderhead that bestowed him this curse had decided that it was funny to watch the puny human squirmed and writhed and decided out of the blue to put him inside a baby girl, because _why the fuck not?!_

He was shoved and forced into _this_… this _prison_ without his own permission. He felt trapped and suffocated.

Every time he looked into the mirror, all that he could see was a foreign face staring back at him.

It was still the same black eyes and the same black hair. However, the eyes were too big and the hair was too long. The cheeks were too soft and the lips were too full.

She was such a pretty little _girl_.

He wanted to kill her.

He gripped the mirror tighter, as if choking it, hoping that the ghost inside would be choked too.

The glass started to crack under the pressure of his hands. He watched as the girl kept on staring at him with those dark murderous eyes, taunting and mocking him.

_What? You're going to kill me? It won't happen, honey. I am YOU, and you are ME!_

No, she was not him. That _abomination_ could not be him.

_Yes I am_, the high-pitched voice gloated.

She was not Nara Shikamaru. She was Nara Shikari.

_We're the same person, s_he said.

No, they were not.

_You're in denial_, the girl whispered sweetly.

Feeling fed up, he harshly punched the mirror and broke it into hundreds little pieces.

He watched as blood descended from the girl's bloody knuckles into her unmarred soft palm with no small amount of satisfaction.

_Now the girl won't be so pretty anymore._

Shikamaru clenched his fist and chuckled hollowly.

Who was he kidding?


	2. Pseudo Paradise of a Living Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now that we are alone, let us deal with your bad behavior."
> 
> The mistress moved the cane and lightly tapped it on the girl's back.
> 
> "Strip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_ " I'm going to Hell in a basket _

_ Weaved in from my sins _

_ Like wicker _

_ With little Wiccan ties _

_ As if I'm a witch _

_ Accused" _

_ **Matthew** _ _ ** Little, Hell in a Basket**_

* * *

Shikamaru stared blankly at the dark wooden floor, mindlessly sweeping it as he was ordered to.

On his left stood a fair-skinned woman with a dark-green kimono. Her long black hair was looped in the back and slicked back in the front with wax, a comb was inserted into the top as a finishing touch. Her dark smoldering eyes were focused on him, openly glaring but supervising his work at the same time.

He would praise her beauty and grace if she was not so nasty.

"Are you blind, girl? That spot is still dirty!" The woman spat with a tone so vicious that one would think that he was cannibalizing newborn's flesh in his spare time.

That was nothing.

Sometimes the woman would make him do chores, a lot of them, _twice_, before he would be allowed to leave the house. Usually he would just do it, because defying the order was not worth the headache he would receive once the woman started to lament her grievous fate for having such a _rude, lazy and disobedient_ _wench of a daughter_. Shikamaru had lost count on how many times he had heard that particular tirade already.

Another time the woman would force him to sit in front of a mirror, combing his hair for hours and whispered how he was going to grow to be a beautiful woman. How someday he was going to marry a respectable man and bring honor to their family.

He wanted to gag.

Shikamaru was not sure which one was worse; the thought of being married off to some random men or the fact that the woman kept crushing his sense of self by constantly emphasizing that as of now he was a girl and that fact would never ever change.

He remembered the first few months of his arrival, when he was so wrapped up in self-loathing and denial after realizing _when_ and _where_ he had ended up at, trapped in someone else's body on top of that. At that rate the woman was bound to see some of his occasional bouts of insanity.

He was not sure of this era's opinion about gender dysphoria, however, the woman could at least _pretend_ to be sympathetic to his situation and stop reminding himself about how wrong his body was by making him stare into those stupid mirrors, or making him attend stupid 'womanly' lessons.

He especially hated those lessons.

Sometimes Shikamaru wondered where the real Shikari was. Did she die? Or did she just... disappear so that he could exist? Did she become a part of him? Was she hiding somewhere, somewhere in the dark corner inside his – their – mind? If she were, could they switch places for a bit – just long enough for him to close his eyes and pretend that none of this was real, just long enough for him to pretend that everything was alright?

Shikamaru felt the shift in the air, but he made no move to evade the strike despite being very capable to, as the woman whipped her hand across his face, causing a sharp pain to travel into his cheek.

That was nothing, he had worse.

"Focus girl! The floor is not going to clean itself on its own!" the woman snapped.

"Yes ma'am."

He was not sure why he accepted the slap. He knew that he was not a masochist, but some part of him – the miserable and pathetic part of him – took the punishment as some sort of atonement for his inability to save his comrades and ensure Konoha's future. The other part of him, the part of him who felt its identity was being robbed by the circumstance, took the pain as some sort of rebellion to the woman who dedicated her life to make a 'proper' woman out of him.

After all, as the woman always said, women had to be graceful and beautiful. Although beautiful was a subjective term, he was sure that the woman meant no bruises in the face.

If his skin was filled with bruises, he would be less of a woman and more of a man, right?

* * *

"Again."

The strict voice echoed through the room, the voice was soft and barely above a whisper, but its clipped tone was heard by every occupant of the room.

Immediately, after the command was given, sounds of instruments being played filled the room. The harmonious combination of shamisen, koto, shakuhachi and tsuzumi created an ethereal wistful melody etched by melancholy, juxtaposing with the seemingly carefree spirit of their players.

At the middle of the room, the mistress' eyes surveyed the players, her lips twitched in pride as she noted the graceful posture her pupils had as they played the instruments like an experienced geisha. Not only that, the musical arrangement was also perfect, as expected of her students.

The only thing that dampened the mistress' mood was the latest addition to her class, a delinquent child who was sitting behind a taller girl with her head rested on top of her knees, openly sleeping and blatantly disrespecting her and her lesson.

The mistress despised her.

That girl had no appreciation for any kind of arts, not poetry, not singing, not dancing, nor playing music. The girl had neither manner nor sophistication, no respect for her elders and did not know how to act like a proper woman. The girl was the epitome of things that the mistress did not want to be: a tasteless, passionless and useless woman.

The mistress held her forefinger up, and the sounds of the music ceased abruptly.

The mistress walked closer to the delinquent with her rattan cane in tow. Her pupils obediently shuffled aside and let the mistress walk through. They knew what would happen next and they did not want to be on the receiving end of the mistress' wrath.

The mistress stopped two feet away from the girl. She briefly eyed the girl with a frown before she swung the rattan cane into the girl's head.

However, before the rattan could hit its intended target, a pale arm rose and halted its descent.

"You miss again shishou," Shikamaru stated. His eyes were half-lidded with his trademark bored look plastered on his face.

The mistress smiled sweetly. The girl might have the nerve to mock her _now_, but soon she would not have it any longer.

"It was my intention, dear."

They both knew that it was a lie. Loath as she might to admit it, the girl did have a very good reflex. She caught the rattan in such a way that her hand would bear a minimum amount of damage from the force of the blow.

"The usual I presume?" the girl asked plainly, as if she was not bothered by the punishment that would befall upon her.

It _irked_ the mistress, but still, she smiled politely.

"You know the drill."

Shikamaru sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. He did not want to hear the troublesome woman bitching even more about his attitude, not when he had had enough of that headache inducing speech from the previous lessons.

He walked into the corner of the room and lazily dragged the wooden 'punishment chair' with him into the middle of the room before he climbed and stood on top of it.

"Come now, lift your skirt," the mistress said expectantly to the girl.

Shikamaru mindlessly lifted the ugly piece of clothing that he had been forced to wear.

The mistress stared at the back of the girl's calves. There were some fading bruises and lines from the previous punishments. However, considering the amount of frequency in which the girl get punished, they looked relatively fine.

Perhaps she should punish the girl harsher this time. Perhaps then she would finally get it through her thick skull how to behave like a proper woman.

The mistress liked the idea.

The mistress turned around and faced the rest of her students. "Our lesson today finish early. Your music performance today is acceptable enough that I do not feel embarrassed to be your teacher."

Her pupils looked visibly brightened by the compliment. _Those fools._

"Nevertheless, I still expect every single one of you to practice your poetry at home. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes shishou," the students chorused.

They gave the mistress a bow before they ushered themselves out of the room, leaving the mistress alone with the girl.

The mistress turned to the delinquent and let a menacing smile appear on her face. "Now that we are alone, let's deal with your bad behavior."

The mistress moved the rattan cane into the girl's back.

"Strip," the mistress ordered.

Shikamaru's eyes widened.

"Well..." the mistress drawled, "get on with it."

Shikamaru stared incredulously at the wall in front of him.

_Is this woman for real?_

"Come now girl, strip. Or are you too much of a dunderhead to understand my simple command?" she taunted.

Shikamaru was no stranger to corporal punishment; he was a ninja after all. If the woman wanted to strike him, he would not cause too much of a ruckus. He had to build his new body's pain tolerance from somewhere. Even Konoha - who was alleged as the 'friendliest' of the Five Great Shinobi Countries - still applied corporal punishment, even to civilians, if they chose to avoid incarceration and be punished by it instead.

What he was _not_ fine with, was the fact that the woman did not even think twice before deciding on corporal punishment for children.

Shikamaru was not a child; he could take the pain and heal himself. However, what about other children, _real_ children? He was aware that the protection of children in this era was abysmal at best - considering the fact that they trained children how to kill before they could even read - but caning and whipping? That was not acceptable in his book.

Even though Shikamaru was more than familiar with pain, he had to admit that the woman had never before held her strength back. He did not want that rattan cane to come anywhere near his spine.

The mistress, on the other hand, watched the girl with no small amount of anger and annoyance. Feeling her patience began to run out with the girl's disobedience, the mistress roughly yanked the girl's collar down, exposing her pale neck and shoulders.

The sight brought her into a stunned silence.

It reminded the mistress of a memory long time ago, a memory of a woman who smelt like Camellia.

The mistress remembered her,

_She has mischievous eyes, but she also has the warmest smiles and hugs._

They used to walk through the forest and just talked for hours about everything and nothing. She had always led the way - saying she knew the forest better - bundled beneath her obnoxious deer coat, only giving the mistress a glimpse of her pale, long neck.

_Sometimes she's a real pain to deal with, but she's loyal to the core. She never judges her lifestyle, looks or decisions. She always stays beside her during difficult times and handles her well during her mood swings. She has a sharp memory - always there to keep her things (and life) organized._

But now she's gone...

Fate was such a cruel bitch.

The man who took her hands in marriage did not even deserve her. He never loved her, not like _she_ did.

Words could not describe how much she longed to see her best friend, her confidante. But the mistress could not afford to be selfish.

That man was not someone to be trifled with. He might fool everyone else, but not her; never her.

She would preserve. As long as she remained silent, nothing would ever befall her best friend. The mistress was sure of it.

The mistress squeezed her eyes shut._ Please be alright, please, plea-_

"Shishou... Are you okay?"

_What?_

The mistress blinked her eyes, and felt droplets of water fall down her cheeks. It was only now that she realized that she had started crying. She had never felt more pathetic.

No, no, no, no, no.

She was _the_ mistress dammit. She was a strong woman, she should not cry.

She should not let others see her weakness, especially not this girl. Not the girl that reminded her of the man that ruined everything in her life. Not the girl whose very existence was the ultimate mockery that fate had decided to grace her with.

The mistress loathed her, more than anything_._

"Get out."

"But-"

"I said, _GET OUT_!"

The woman violently kicked the legs of the chair, making it tumble onto the floor. Shikamaru's quick reflex was the only thing that prevented him from kissing the ground.

"What is wrong with you?!"

The mistress swung her cane at him in response, but he quickly dived out of the way and made a beeline towards the sliding door to escape from the deranged woman. Shikamaru didn't want to know what happened inside, but he could hear the sound of furniture being thrown at the walls.

He continued to run in the direction of his house, straightening his clothes in the process. He did not want other people to reach a wrong conclusion about what had transpired.

Once he was near his house, he slowed his pace and acted nonchalantly. He quietly sneaked into the house, ignoring his body's mother who was tending to her Camellia garden, and headed towards his room. He locked the door and threw himself into the futon, savoring its uncomfortable texture.

_It's what you deserve_, he remembered the woman had said.

It was still better than nothing.

Shikamaru glanced out of his bedroom's window. According to the sun's position, it was only an hour after noon. He still had a few more hours before dinner. He'd better do something productive until then.

He rolled into his side and used his toes to drag four wooden dolls that were scattered on the floor closer to him. He then picked the broken dolls with his hands and threw them into the corners of the room.

_Perfect._

Shikamaru pushed his chakra into his hands, materializing it on the tips of his fingers. He then lengthened the concentrated chakra into threads and attached them to the dolls. One did not befriend a puppeteer without learning a trick or two.

The key of this exercise was balance. If the chakra threads were too thick, the puppets' movements would become too stiff and the enemy would easily spot him. At the same time, if they were too thin, the threads would not be strong enough to properly move the puppets.

It was a good exercise for someone like him, who preferred not to tax himself too much.

The fact that he _could_ break someone's joints once he was adept at using the chakra threads had nothing to do with it.

_Nothing at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shishou (師匠) = teacher, master. The word itself has a more literal meaning of teacher and is closer to the concept of one's master (the first character shi or sui means commander or governor).


	3. Just a Harmless Little Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's for your own good, she said.
> 
> It was bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_"My dad had limitations. That's what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm."_

_ **Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl** _

* * *

Dinner time, suffice to say, was tense.

Shikamaru's new mother was seated in the middle of the table, farthest from the entrance, as the most honored person. Shikamaru himself was seated near the entrance, as the least important person. Even during the most mediocre activity the woman never ceased to send a jab towards his person. Not that it offended him, it was rather amusing to watch her try so hard to make him feel unwanted.

Shikamaru quietly munched the rice in his mouth whilst discreetly glancing at the blond man who was seated somewhere between him and the bitch queen. The man looked tired; understandably, since he had only returned from his mission a few hours ago. However, that was not the thing that piqued his interest.

Shikamaru watched with aberrant – almost cruel – delight as the man gathered his wits and moved the gears in his brain, trying to say something but always holding his tongue when his wife's eyes swiveled onto his direction.

The man reminded Shikamaru of young Chōji, shy and afraid to utter his mind, afraid of chastisement and judgment from his peers. The only difference was the fact that the man was afraid of his own wife.

During the Warring State period, Akimichi Clan, Nara Clan, and Yamanaka Clan lived together as allies. They used their respective strengths to complement each other's weaknesses. That was how they survived from clans with a strong military front, such as the Uchiha and the Senju. More often than not, the members of these three clans would have intermarriage with the other clans' members to strengthen their ties, for example Shikamaru's new mother and father.

Unfortunately, their arranged marriage was not a healthy or a working one, let alone a happy one. The man had a low self-esteem, whilst the woman was volatile and conceited. One did not have to be a genius to figure out how an argument between the two of them would end. They did not make a good match, but their parents did not care. It was for a political gain after all, they needed to uphold their families' power within their respective clan. How society judged a relationship was also not helping the man either, as the man was expected to 'man up' and deal with his own wife. However, the way Shikamaru saw it, abusive relationships were abusive, regardless of the gender. Thus, Shikamaru decided to cut the man some slack and help him.

"How's your mission father?"

The man smiled at him like he was the long awaited salvation that he had been waiting for all of his life. Shikamaru felt awful for inwardly laughing at him before.

"It went well, thank you for asking. There are no casualties from our side and the mission is a success."

"Good." Shikamaru nodded his head.

"Yes, good," the man mumbled.

Shikamaru was not expecting the man to come home tonight; however, his appearance had given Shikamaru a sudden idea that could either result in utter disaster or give him an advantage that would be useful for him in the long run.

_What to do? What to choose?_

Shikamaru made up his mind in a split-second and decided to carry out his plan. It was a good opportunity to test the man's boundary – a social study of sorts.

"Father?" he called.

The man glanced up. "Yes?"

"Do you, by any chance, want to say something to mother?"

The man seemed to freeze whilst his spouse perked up at the mention of her title.

"N-no," he stammered.

Shikamaru frowned. From his peripheral vision he could see how the woman raised her chin in mockery towards her husband.

That would not do. Shikamaru had to give the man more incentive.

Shikamaru snarled inside the man's mind, _"Are you kidding me?! How long are you going to be her plaything? You hate her! I hate her! Stand up for yourself! If not for your sake, then do it for mine!"_

The man's eyes widened, but he quickly recovered and kept his cool. The only sign of his distress was the slight clenching of his fist around his chopsticks.

"_You can use Yamanaka Clan telepathy?"_

"_I'm speaking to you, aren't I?"_ Shikamaru deadpanned.

"_I'm sorry, that was a stupid question." _The man sounded so dejected that Shikamaru felt like he was kicking a puppy.

Troublesome. Too much, then.

"_No, I am sorry. I was insensitive and rude. But you need to stop blaming yourself for everything." _Shikamaru inwardly pinched the bridge of his nose. _"Despite the horrible things mother said to you – which are completely wrong in my opinion – you are a good father. So don't you ever forget that."_

The man was silent after that. Shikamaru gave him some space and continued to eat his food as if nothing had happened, lest bitch queen began to suspect something. He was not in the mood to deal with her tirade and he did not want to accidentally snap her neck in two.

Shikamaru was halfway done with his food when the man began to speak inside his mind again.

"_Shikari?"_

"_Yes?"_ he responded after a slight hesitation. Sometimes he forgot the new name that was given to him.

"_Is the bruise on your cheek…?"_ the man trailed off, unsure how to word his question.

"_Yes." _Yes, it was from my mother.

"_Oh."_

"_.…"_

"_I'm so–"_

Shikamaru resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. _"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."_

"_Yes it is," _the man insisted, firmer for the first time since Shikamaru could remember._ "I'm too afraid to stand up to her and now you receive the brunt from my lack of action. I am sorry."_

"_It's okay. I'm used to it," _he assured.

That answer was like a slap on the man's face, just like how Shikamaru intended it to be.

The man faltered for a second, his chopsticks almost fell from his grip. When his wife's sharp eyes turned to his direction, he immediately composed himself and resumed to eat.

"_Shikari?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Thank you... for what you have said earlier. It means a lot."_

"_It's nothing."_

"_No, it's not _nothing_!" _Shikamaru pretended to wince at the harsh tone. The man's tone turned apologetic afterwards. _"It's just that… My father used to belittle me when I was a child and my… my _mother_," _he spat out the word,_ "she only watched him. She never defended me, not even once. And just like her, I never interfere with your mother," _he finished bitterly.

Shikamaru hoisted more rice into his chopsticks, attentively listening to the man's explanation whilst keeping an eye on the woman in front of him. She was watching him too.

"_As pathetic as it sounds, _you_, my daughter, are the first person who ever encourages me to fight back."_

Shikamaru glanced at the subtle shift in the man's posture. It was as if a new resolve had taken over him.

"_I won't let her touch you again, ever. I will make sure that you have a better – happier – life than me. You'll have a bright future ahead of you, I swear it."_

How touching. Shikamaru would have believed him had he not experienced first-hand just how dark and disappointing life could have become.

"_Thank you," _he replied nonetheless.

"_No. Thank _you_."_

* * *

Etsuko Nara sat inside her bedroom, a simple room with one futon, a small dresser and a low table. On top of the small table was candlelight to accompany her in the darkness. Once in a while she would glance at the translucent shoji door that overlooked her courtyard, checking if the person she was waiting for had finally arrived.

Yesterday, one week after the family dinner that had left her feeling unsettled, Etsuko had received a letter from her former friend, Hotaru, who requested for an audience with her. She said that it was an important matter.

Etsuko, of course, only felt indignation at the other woman's audacity to want to meet her when she had all but abandoned Etsuko after her marriage. Although Etsuko would not admit it, Hotaru was the only one who knew the woman behind the polite façade she wore. Hotaru was the only one who accepted her as she was and the only one who would stay beside her even after Etsuko had cursed her to the deepest pit of hell when she lost herself to her anger.

However, after her marriage, the woman had simply cut all contacts with her and pretended as if their friendship never existed, as if they were strangers. Their interactions became strictly professional and business-like, as if they had not known each other for more than a _decade_. Etsuko would not admit it to anyone, but the treatment hurt_. _It _hurt_ more than anything.

Etsuko could lament however she wanted to about how Hotaru would be nothing without her, how if Etsuko did not take a pity on the girl and plead for her father to spare her, Hotaru would be killed or be sold as a slave, but it would never change the fact that Hotaru's abandonment had made Etsuko felt truly alone. Her mother and her brothers were gone, they were all dead. Hotaru was the only one that she had left, but the woman had left her too.

_It's for your own good_, she said.

Etsuko knew it was bullshit.

_She just has had enough of you_, the voice inside her head supplied. It would not be strange, considering the fact that her own family hated her, not that she cared much.

Etsuko was aware of the fact that her good-for-nothing husband despised her (even though he was too scared to say it); he had been since their uneventful arranged marriage where he was forced to take her last name. Even though her family was not all that influential within her clan, the man was just a mere bastard – sure, a Yamanaka's clan head's bastard, but abastard nonetheless – and she was _way_ better than what he actually deserved. It aggravated her that she was being wedded to someone who was born out of wedlock, but at least now she could use the inheritance her father – who fortunately had been killed in his mission six months ago – had left her.

That coward always let her get away with her whims, be it humiliating him, putting him down, criticizing him, using their money however she wanted – even though he was the one who was supposed to control them since he was _technically_ the adopted heir of her family – or treating his daughter like a servant.

The latest was her _favorite_ pastime activity.

Etsuko remembered how her own mother had explained to her – how her warm brown eyes were directed at her – that a mother's duty was to love their children, no matter what. Her own mother's marriage was arranged, but she loved her children anyway.

However, Etsuko _could not_ love this child. She could not and would not love the one who had taken her _real_ baby girl away, ever.

Etsuko knew that something was wrong with the baby the moment she felt the baby's chakra after she birthed it. Etsuko was no shinobi, but she could feel its chakra with extreme clarity – not that she ever told anyone – and _that_ _thing_ had an uncontrollable chakra of a grown man, full of anger and volatile, like an evil spirit.

For months Etsuko had tried to convince herself that there was nothing wrong with the baby, that she was only hallucinating and that soon everything would be back to normal. However, no matter how much she tried to drown herself in denial, her instinct kept screaming at her that the thing that she called her daughter was not her baby.

Etsuko trusted her instincts, they never lied.

Her suspicion was confirmed during one evening when her husband was on a mission. The rain was pouring heavily outside, it looked like it would evolve into a thunderstorm. When Etsuko heard her baby crying, she had thought that the eight months old was afraid of the storm, thus she immediately headed to the nursery to comfort her. What she saw was the opposite.

Etsuko saw what was supposed to be her baby crying whilst laughing like a maniac, her chakra lashed out at her surrounding, making the nursery look like it had been hit by a typhoon. Shards of glass were embedded in the walls, and blood pooled at the futon from where the girl had cut herself. Thinking quickly, Etsuko simply grabbed scissors, a bandage, an alcohol, and a water-filled basin. She put the items near the door and let the thing dress its wound itself.

With the revelation, Etsuko felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She did not know and did not care what it was, be it evil spirit, demon, or yōkai – perhaps even a birth monster. Etsuko simply stopped caring about the thing entirely.

Since that incident the thing pretended as if nothing had happened. It behaved like a normal human being, like the child its appearance suggested. Although the thing had not made an attempt against her life, _yet_, Etsuko never let her guard down, and she would be lying if she said that she had not considered various plans to kill it.

Etsuko herself even began to dare to test her boundary, to see how far it would stand her action. It accepted her insults and harsh words, it was willing to do the chores she assigned to it, and it took her abuse and seemed not to care about what Etsuko did to it. If it was its plan to lull her into a false sense of security, it _almost_ succeeded, but Etsuko would never believe its act.

Etsuko also found a peculiar fact about the thing. It hated mirrors, or any kind of reflective surface which showed it her baby girl's face. The thing especially loathed her when Etsuko mentioned anything about its appearance. Thus, when she attended to its basic needs, Etsuko would never forget to praise its appearance, telling how beautiful it was and how it would make a fine wife for a lucky man.

Etsuko relished the way it would tightly clench its hands until they bleed and pretend as if her words did not affect it at all. Etsuko knew she should have known better than to tempt that _thing_, but she could not help it, she wanted the monster who took away her daughter to suffer. If only no one would notice its disappearance, Etsuko would have–

The sounds of the door being knocked broke Etsuko from her musing.

Etsuko moved to stand and smoothed her face into a polite smile. She would show Hotaru that she was not affected by the woman's (lack of) appearance. Etsuko was not sure why her heartbeat was thundering inside her rib cage, as if she was anticipating Hotaru's arrival. She definitely was not.

_At all._

Etsuko slid the door open,

And her smile slipped abruptly from her lips.

* * *

Shikamaru was not sure what exactly he had expected when he decided to do his spur-of-the-moment plan.

It certainly was not this.

Not that he was complaining or anything, but it seemed he had severely underestimated Hitoshi Nara, né Yamanaka's, dauntlessness. The sight before him certainly did not match any kind of pattern he had seen on the man.

Shikamaru heaved an annoyed sigh.

He only had come home from visiting his new paternal grandparents in the Yamanaka Clan's settlement, where the clan head's wife and children treated him and Hitoshi like a second-class citizen – which they technically were, in the term of social status – even though it was unnecessary since Hitoshi was no longer in the running to be Yamanaka's Clan Head.

Three days of staying there had put a massive strain in his patience limit, and Shikamaru had come home with the intention of sleeping for one whole day without interruption. However, it seemed the universe was not content by simply letting him rest peacefully in his uncomfortable bed, because once he walked inside the house, he was greeted with a smell that was all too familiar to him,

The smell of rotting corpses.

He, of course, had followed the source to investigate, even though it was already obvious who the corpse was.

Turned out it was not a corpse, but corpses, corpses which also happened to be bitch queen and bitch sensei. He felt somewhat sorry, but even in their deaths he still could not find it in him to address them with proper titles and respect.

The corpses were wrapped in an embrace, a lewd one considering their position. Judging from the empty sleeping pills' container, the four empty sake bottles that were strewn on the tatami mat, and the fact that there was no sign of forced entry nor anomaly in the corpses that suggested that they were forced to take the pills and the alcohol, it was logical to assume that the cause of their deaths were suicide by drug's poisoning.

However, Shikamaru knew better. It was too perfect, too coincidental – and who else could commit such a clean and traceless murder better than someone who was proficient in mind techniques? It was most likely Hitoshi. Yes, it could be someone else, but it was unlikely. Until new evidence provided itself, Shikamaru would have to withhold any judgment.

Well… no matter.

Shikamaru glanced at the rotting corpses. He supposed he should do something about them, else their stenches became too hard to be removed.

Shikamaru sighed. Now he had to pretend to be sad and cried for at least two days.

Troublesome.

* * *

"Nii-san, should we kill them?"

The elder of the two glanced at his little brother, then to the two women who were slumped at the base of the tree, drugged unconscious.

They had just returned from their mission when he sensed presences near the tree which he previously intended to use as a temporary resting place. He felt quite tired and his chakra was quite spent, thus he would appreciate a little bit of rest.

"Well... we have no use for them. Based on their chakra level they are civilian, so leaving them here in the open will only increase the risk of them being taken by bandits or being eaten by wild animals."

"So, do we kill them or not?" the younger boy asked impatiently.

The older boy folded his hands and observed the two women, trying to find a clue about their value.

They were clothed in a nondescript, dull kimono. There were no insignia of their clan in their respective clothes. Their features were also average enough. One of them had black hair whilst the other had brown. The black haired one though, she had a distinct smell of a flower, a Camellia if he was not wrong.

Then there were red marks in their neck, most likely from a kunai. But for whatever reason their supposed killer decided not to kill them in the last second, only leaving red marks in their throats.

Odd.

"I think we should keep them," he declared.

"Why?" The confusion was palpable in the other boy's voice.

"Well… you know father. He likes," he made a vague motion with his hand, showing how uncomfortable he was to speak about the topic with the younger boy, "…pretty women."

Those women were quite beautiful – personally he thought they looked boring, he couldn't care less about their faces; he simply wanted to go home and get some sleep – certainly matched their father's usual type. If the man did not like them he could always kill them, sell them, or made them the clan's servants, whichever their father preferred.

"But why? He has mother, mother is pretty too."

"_That_, Izuna, is a question that I will answer once you are older."

"But _nii-san_!" the boy whined.

"Now, now, don't be like that." He smiled and ruffled his brother's hair. "Come on, you need to rest, I'll do the first watch."

Madara ignored his brother's pout and ushered him aside, making sure he was really resting instead of just feigning sleep.

Meanwhile, somewhere in another part of the Land of Fire, two corpses inside the coffins that were being cremated dissolved into muds, leaving no trace of the deception as the coffins were consumed by blazing fire.


	4. Lies, Greed & Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotion - love - was such a dangerous thing. One word about his dear daughter in possible danger could turn this lethal killer into a wrecked mess in split-second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_"We're a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don't believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more."_

_ **Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora **_

* * *

"Father, I want to be a shinobi."

Shikamaru watched with an ill-disguised amusement as Hitoshi tried to compose himself after almost dropping his spoonful of hot soup in surprise.

The man sputtered. "Pardon?!"

Emotion – _love_ – was such a dangerous thing. One word about his dear daughter in possible danger could turn this lethal killer into a wrecked mess in split-second.

"I said that I want to be a shinobi. You know, doing missions and stuff," Shikamaru iterated.

Two years had passed since the 'suicides' incident. There was not much hassle around it. The motive was already quite clear, whilst Hitoshi himself had a sound alibi and was widely known as a kindhearted man, so no one had raised any fuss. If others had any suspicion, they kept it to themselves.

Shikamaru on the other hand had been training himself to get back in shape. He had arrived with all of his chakra in tow. He knew that chakra was part of oneself, but even he would not expect it to follow him to this damned era. He vividly remembered those torturous moments when he first arrived in the timeline, when his whole chakra was squeezed inside the tiny confinement of a newborn babe. Not only did his chakra control have gone absolutely terrible, he also felt like his whole body was being stabbed with a thousand invincible needles. He truly deserved an award for waking up in the morning instead of sleeping like a log as he planned to. Thankfully, life was easier now that no one really paid any attention to his whereabouts. Hitoshi himself was getting busier with his own missions.

"I heard it the first time you say it, but _why_?!"

Shikamaru ignored the outburst and calmly took a sip from his glass.

It was quite simple actually. He had been trapped in this era for years, and so far he still did not know _why_ or _how_ he ended up here. He was painfully lacking in the information department, he did not even know where he was. The landscape of this Land of Fire was unfamiliar for him. There were no roads or direction signs, there were only trees, and trees, and an endless amount of trees. There was no endemic flora or fauna that could help him to narrow down his exact location, and his clansmen were too much of a paranoid bastard for him to sneak around the compound to find any maps or documents that could give him any inclination regarding his whereabouts. Even Hitoshi – who was a mush when it came to his daughter – never disclosed any information that could compromise their clan's safety, however innocuous it was.

To gather more information he would need to get out of the compound and explore the land, and he _needed_ to be a shinobi to do that. However, it was not just that simple. For women, profession as a ninja – or any kind of fighting warrior – was almost non-existent. Women's roles were usually only to be exercised behind the scenes (especially for upper-class women): in palaces, council chambers, and living quarters where decisions were made, alliances arranged, and intrigues unfolded. Sure, there existed fighting women – samurai women mostly – but the conflicts they were involved in, by and large, were of a defensive nature. And as far as he knew – which was quite a lot – apart from one or two ambiguous examples, there were no records of women being recruited to serve in armies or ordered to fight, neither did there appear to be any authentic examples of all-women armies.

Thus, he needed a plan. A plan that could make the clan head willing to defy the norm, a plan that could make _him_ – who to his dismay was still trapped as a woman – be enlisted as a shinobi, and not just a benched one, but an active front-line shinobi.

Annoyingly enough – not that he expected it to be any better – after an extensive research which might or might not involve nagging and harassing his neighbor until the poor guy finally relented and told him what he needed to know, Shikamaru found out that his only mean to be a shinobi was through Hitoshi, which meant that Shikamaru had to somehow persuade the man to practically sign his only child's death warrant on top of making him ignore the fact that his _daughter_ wanted to be a fighter. Shikamaru would not be lying to say that he did not like his odds. It would not be a problem if Hitoshi was still a meek little mouse he used to be. However, since Etsuko's demise the man had grown a back bone, and his self-esteem also had been steadily growing. It was really troublesome. It was in a situation like this that Shikamaru almost wished that Etsuko was still around, _almost_.

Oh, well… there was no merit in lamenting about what had happened. The key to winning was to _always_ be patient and calm. Observe and analyze your opponents' moves, and when they lower their guards down, _end_ them.

He might not win the battle, but he would win the war.

Shikamaru plastered his most determined look – a mixture of anger and indignation were mixed with just the right amount of patriotism to make it more believable – and put his glass down.

"Because out there, our clansmen are _dying_, some of them are only one or two years older than me. Remember Ichiro, our neighbor's son? He died last week, and he wasn't even _ten_ years old. How can I just sit here, doing _nothing_, living my life as if everything's _fine_ when it's actually not?!" Shikamaru asked with a very convincing biting tone.

"I'd rather have them die instead of you," Hitoshi replied coolly. "Being a shinobi is not a _game_, it's a painful and dirty job. It's not something that you _choose_. You do it because you have no other choice. _I_ do it because I have _no choice_."

"I do not know what has gotten into you, but you are a brilliant girl, there are plenty of other choices that you can choose. If you want to contribute yourself to the clan, you can be a healer. You could invent new medicine that would benefit us and our allies. Or if you are interested, you can be an apprentice under the clan's seal master. Having a good career will certainly increase your chance of being chosen as the clan heir's bride. We know that if you marry him, you will be well provided."

Shikamaru's façade almost slipped in annoyance.

Of course, it would always boil down to _that_. In this period, all women had certain duties that they were expected to fulfill. They were made only to serve their father, husband, and son throughout their lifetime. Women followed this simple rule: As a young girl, she obeyed her father; upon marriage, she obeyed her husband; and when widowed, she had to obey her son. As soon as a woman married she was assumed to bear her husband a son, and if a woman became widowed, she could never marry again.

How many times had he heard this shit again?

Shikamaru was almost tempted to trick one of his cousins to marry him before smothering the poor bastard in his sleep and made himself a widow if it could make everyone shut their mouth already.

"I _never_ said that it's a game," Shikamaru started. "I've helped to clean the wounded in the infirmary, and honestly I don't feel any passion in healing people, or sealing arts for that matter." _That's a lie, but who cares._ "Are you going to force me to do something that I don't even want?" _Guilt-trips him._ "And marriage?!" Shikamaru barked out a harsh laugh for extra effect. "I would only end up like Mother. Do you want _me_ to end up like _her_?" Hitoshi flinched at the reminder of the woman. His brave demeanor started to crumble.

Shikamaru grasped the man's hands in his and softened his expression and tone.

"I want to be like _you_. I want to fight for _our_ _family_ too." _Feed on his ego_. "I don't want to marry _anyone_," Shikamaru whispered brokenly, his big glistening eyes only complimented his act even further. "I just want to stay here. I only need my dad, I don't want anyone else." When Hitoshi's eyes teared up, Shikamaru took advantage of the man's vulnerable state and reinstated his point. "Dad, _please_, at least let me try first. I think I can do it." Shikamaru injected determination into his eyes. "No, I _know_ I can do it. If I'm no good, then I– I promise that I'll quit." _Make a compromise._

Hitoshi stared at him, his eyes were in turmoil, his lips were pursed and creases outlined his forehead. His shoulders were tense, showing how conflicted he was about the idea of letting his only daughter indulge her ridiculous aspiration of becoming a ninja, whilst at the same time unwilling to outright reject and disappoint her.

Shikamaru was on edge when the man opened his mouth to answer him, but he still maintained his impeccable act.

Hitoshi sighed in resignation. "Pack your clothes after dinner. Tomorrow morning we will go to the trainee barrack. I will speak with the instructors to let you train with the others for one week. If you show a big potential, the clan head _might_ let you join the rank. But if not, you will _never_ speak of this nonsense again, _ever_. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Shikamaru smiled with mock salute. "Thanks dad, I love you," he added softly.

Hitoshi smiled like a fool after hearing that last statement, his worries over his daughter's crazy idea momentarily forgotten.

_It's just a phase_, he convinced himself. _The girl is lazy, she will definitely quit after she experiences the taxing training. As per their agreement, once she fails she will never bring this subject again. It will be okay. She will be okay. They will be okay._

Hitoshi patted the girl's cheek and returned to his steadily cooling food.

Shikamaru casually bowed his head and strategically hid his face behind the wide sleeve of his yukata, his smile slipped immediately. _Too easy_, he thought. He was practically a shinobi now. Even though he was currently trapped inside a child's body, he was still a shinobi with decades of more advanced knowledge. He could handle whatever they threw at him. The clan head definitely would not reject a talented addition in his band of mercenary, his current gender be damned.

If Hitoshi thought that he could stop him from becoming a shinobi, then he was in for a big surprise.

* * *

"You summon me, father?"

Madara stood before his father. His stance was relaxed, but still alert and respectful. Sweats were dripping down from his forehead after an intense sparring session with three of his clansmen at once.

"Sit," Uchiha Tajima ordered curtly, he did not take his eyes off of the scroll he was writing.

Tajima pulled one particular nondescript scroll from his drawer, rolled it open and laid it in front of his heir. "Read it."

Madara cautiously lifted the piece of parchment into his hand. His eyebrows raised into his hairline as his eyes roamed over its content.

"You want me to make... suicide bombs?" he asked, unsure.

"Yes. They will serve as a precaution."

"Precaution for what?"

"What else? Of course for the women that I have you caught," the clan head answered. A hint of ridiculousness seeped into his tone, conveying his bafflement on why the boy even asked such an obvious question.

Madara stared blankly at his father. His eyes darted to the scroll, then to the clan head again, waiting for some kind of explanation. When none came, he decided to address the question himself. "But won't it put you in unnecessary danger?"

Tajima finally glanced up, his eyebrows arched. "Do pray tell, _how_ exactly will it put _me_ in _any_ danger?"

Madara on the other hand was flabbergasted, wasn't it already obvious?

"Well, you know, _because_."

"Because…" the clan head trailed off.

"_Because_," the preteen insisted.

Tajima scoffed, obviously annoyed by the lack of answer. "Just how much of a retard are you that you become utterly incapable of explaining your own thoughts?"

"What's the point of answering it anyway? You already know the answer, so why don't _you_ tell me?" The boy huffed.

Tajima ignored the boy's rude tone and put his brush down, inwardly wondering just what kind of nonsense that had gone through the boy's head. He had a feeling that he was going to _absolutely_ regret ever asking about it.

"What do you think I use them for?" Tajima asked tersely.

Madara shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "As your whores?"

His father had ordered him to take random slaves with good features to one of their hideouts for no apparent reason. Madara had few theories why, and at the top of the list was for sexual gratification. He kind of understood the gist of relationship between men and women, and the few men that he had been in a mission with had casually talked about their sexual escapades, thus he kind of understood what adultery is, even though he thought that it was dumb. He did not like it, but one of his older cousins said that it was not uncommon for clan heads to take mistresses – even _he _and Izuna were the products of the man's second marriage – so who was he to defy the man's order?

Tajima on the other hand was not really expecting _that_ response, thus he only stared at his son, his face equally blank even though he was inwardly suppressing the urge to bang his head against his desk. It was _unbecoming_ for someone of his status.

Sometimes he wondered why he had not disowned the boy yet.

…

_Oh right…_

_Three of his eldest are _fucking_ dead._

Tajima closed his eyes to ward his impending headache and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Let's pretend that this conversation _never_ happened and get down to business." Once he opened them again they were already crimson in color, their eerie red colors only accented his already gaunt face. "They are _not_ my _whores_. They are my _pet_ _project_, my _spy network_ pet project."

Tajima was pleased to find the boy watching him with rapid attention.

"I plan on scattering them in a few locations that are controlled by our enemies. I have exchanged a technique with our ally that can make them an effective sleeper agents, however this technique is still not perfect, and in the event when they become compromised," Tajima jabbed his forefinger to the mission plan on the scroll in Madara's hand, "I want them to _disappear_, along with everything within half-mile radius."

It might seem like a rather hasty decision to simply blow up their enemies' camps. However, their enemies' deaths had always been their end goal. The use of a large scale explosion was not the Uchiha's modus operandi, thus it would be less likely for them to be the first suspect if he had to resort to detonate those spies; and even _if_ someone had managed to prove that it was indeed _them_, the showcase of power certainly would only boost their reputation, and in extent their missions' request and money income.

Madara on the other hand was not entirely pleased with the order.

"How am I supposed to make a seal with _that_ much radius blast? Those women are civilians. They don't have enough chakra to power the seal. And I'm not really good with seals yet, so why don't you just order the clan's seal master to do it? Or better yet, kidnap some Uzumaki and make them do it."

The clan head frowned.

"Why don't _you_ figure it out yourself instead of whining like a child?" Tajima rebutted. "_You_ are the future clan head. _You_ have to be versatile and well-rounded in shinobi arts. Are you telling me that the _Uchiha Clan's heir_ is an _incompetent_ _spoiled_ _brat_? I raise you better than that. Do I have to make your brother do your job in your stead?"

"No sir!" Madara answered immediately.

"Good. Now go and do as I ordered you to," Tajima dismissed.

Madara stood up, fuming for his incinerated pride.

"Yes sir," he growled before leaving the room, mustering his remaining dignity and clutching the scroll in his hand none too gently.

Tajima gazed upon his son retreating back. The seal design should occupy the boy's time for the time being, enough for him to stop that weird wandering habit of his. Who knew what kind grave danger that could befall him? He could be kidnapped, tortured, or worse – killed. He knew that the boy was already smarter and stronger than most, but still, he was only a child. It was easy to manipulate him. He was too highly competitive and wanted to be perfect in everything he did to the point of stupidity. Somebody could take advantage of him and Tajima really did not want to deal with that kind of headache now.

They lived in a harsh time, and life was such a fickle thing. One day he would die, and the boy would be the one who had to replace him in leading and guiding the clan. An Uchiha leader had to be strong, there was no room for sentiment, and Tajima would make sure that the boy grew into the leader that the clan needed, even if it was the last thing he did.

Tajima picked up his brush and dipped it into the ink beside it before continuing to write a letter to the Hagoromo Clan's leader, they needed to construct a plan for their upcoming attack on the Senju's Western Camp.

* * *

**Uchiha Hideout, Land of Fire**

**Level 1, Prison Section B**

Pitch black substance crawled down the floor, rapidly moving and attaching itself to the wall and the ceiling. The flickering fire from the torches barely made out its irregular shape. Its sticky appearance entirely juxtaposed with the swiftness in which it moved down the barren hallway.

It steadily moved forward, passing room after room and took a sharp turn to its left before moving forward again, heading to the farthest room in the compound.

Once reaching its destination, it easily slipped from the small gap between the door and the floor. Upon its arrival the substance gathered itself, forming a cocoon shaped lump as if slowly twisted and stretched, forming what appeared to be a humanoid figure that lacked any hair or visible orifices. Its yellow eyes, which lacked any visible sclera or pupils, contrasted heavily against the black mass that formed its body.

It walked closer to the prone form of the room's occupant. The woman was sleeping like the dead, not even realizing the presence of the stranger that had sneaked into her confinement. There were dark circles under her eyes, signaling the lack of sleep. Her skin was dry and pale from the lack of sunlight. Her once beautiful feature was gloomy, it had been a while since it was permanently set into its now cadaverous state.

The black mass moved its hand and pressed it against the woman's lower abdomen, searching for a trace of a particular chakra signature that it had sensed.

It stumbled back in surprise when it felt the trace of chakra that was once resided inside the woman. The barely nonexistent trace was almost gone, but it could still feel it as clear as the day – that burning and pulsing chakra that was as fiery as thousand suns but as cold as the darkest side of the moon.

_No, no, no, no, no, __**N**__o, N__**o**__, _N_**o**__, __**NO, NO, NO!**_

_How dare He?!_

_How DARE HE?!_

_ **HOW DARE HE?!** _

_**HAGOROMO! **_It snarled.

It paced, back and forward, from one side of the room to the other, muttering unintelligently under its nonexistent breath.

Once in a while it would stare forlornly at the bright moon that was barely visible from the room's small window, as if asking for some kind of sign or guidance.

Then it went into an abrupt stop and stood perfectly still. It clenched its fists in anger – as if by doing so would crush the windpipe of its source of frustration – before with the same abruptness as before it suddenly dissolved into its previous mucous-like form and crawled into the woman's skin, covering every inch of her. It stayed there for a while, and slowly but steadily the pitch black matter began to seep into the woman's skin, and not too long after that the pitch black mass had entirely disappeared into the woman's flesh, returning the pitch black skin into its original pale hue. But now the woman looked stronger and healthier. Her face was no longer gaunt and her lips gained some color.

When the woman opened her eyes again it was no longer black in color, but dark yellow like burned sulfur. The woman had been completely possessed. The forceful takeover had resulted with her imprisonment inside her own mind,

Leaving only Black Zetsu under the mask of Nara Etsuko.


	5. Path to Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staring, that was what everyone did.
> 
> At his braided hair, at his soft fingers, at his small and delicate frame - a frame which belonged to someone who did not understand hard work and never broke a sweat throughout their life.
> 
> He was completely out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_"He's a mass of contradictions. _Unfortunately, that only seems to enhance his appeal._ I'm one sick bitch, that's for sure."_

** _Siobhan Davis, Finding Kyler_ **

* * *

Staring, that was what everyone did.

At his braided hair – _not by his own volition_, at his flower-patterned yukata – _a piece of clothing which Hitoshi made him wear, and he did not care enough to oppose because it was too bothersome to argue over something superficial_, at his soft fingers – _there were no calluses on them_, at his small and delicate frame – _a frame which belonged to someone who did not understand hard work and never broke a sweat throughout their life_.

He was completely out of place.

Shikamaru walked few steps behind a bulky man who acted as his tour guide, an Akimichi, who Shikamaru deducted from the way the trainees treated him with respect was one of the teachers in the barrack, as the man led him through some sort of mess hall that were filled shinobi and trainees alike, who were enjoying breaks after training, missions or whatever it was that they were doing.

He was completely out of place.

Shikamaru could practically see the gears in their heads turning, pondering just what a girl – a _woman_ –, who obviously was not one of the servants, was doing inside a barrack filled with shinobi. While the answer might be obvious, there was no denying that the notion of him being here alone was already quite ridiculous, thus Shikamaru had pretty much resigned himself into being ogled and scrutinized during his seven days stay at the settlement.

They walked past a big door and descended through long rows of stairs towards somewhere underground. During their silent outing, they took various twists and turns into other sets of stairs that intersected with the main staircase. Shikamaru inwardly made a mental map of those stairs whilst commending the sophistication of the Dōton user that had built the underground maze. Intruders that had no knowledge of this place would be unable to navigate through the vast expenses of stairs, and knowing his clansmen, probably ended up triggering hidden traps that they had surely laid, never to be seen again.

The stair brought them to a dimly lit corridor which led into three other directions. Shikamaru followed his tour guide as the man headed towards the left corridor. They stopped in front of the last door in the hallway.

The man turned around to face him, his face impassive. "This room will be your accommodation during your stay here, the washroom is over there." He pointed towards the door that was located a few meters away from his assigned room. "Training will continue at noon, so you still have a few hours to settle yourself." The man's brown eyes then briefly flickered into his attire, his lips curled in distaste. "Do change your clothes, will you? We're not pampering princesses and practicing tea ceremonies here. We don't want your pretty dress to get ruined, do we?" he asked flatly.

Shikamaru only gave the teacher a polite smile, inwardly imagining how it would feel like to stab Hitoshi repeatedly in the stomach. "Yes sir."

The Akimichi was unmoved by his charm. "Any question?"

Shikamaru nodded in affirmative and made a conscious effort to radiate nervousness from his posture. It was an appropriate response for a girl who was standing in a deserted hallway with a stranger. "Uh, yes... where exactly are we, sir? Earlier I saw a boy coming from the corridor a few levels above us. Is he not a student too?"

"At least you're not a complete retard," the man muttered under his breath. He did not even bother to put any effort to make sure Shikamaru did not hear it. The insult was quite new though. He was certain that the only one who ever called him stupid was his mother and Etsuko – sweet blasted Etsuko.

"For your information, this hallway hosts the servants' quarters. We both know that you won't be here for long, so there's no point in giving you a real room. You will give up just like others before you," he answered blandly.

"There are other girls?" Shikamaru asked, honestly surprised.

"_Were_. They all failed, obviously, and they did not even have a time limit like you."

Shikamaru paid no heed to the man's offhand remark, wanting to gather more information instead. "What happens?"

The man shrugged. "They were simply unable to keep up with the training." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Although there was that one girl…"

Shikamaru perked up in interest. "What about her?"

"She was a war salvage from a dead clan," he recounted. "Only taken in out of pity. Quite an adept student, but…"

"What?" Shikamaru urged, his mask momentarily slipping.

"You sure ask a lot of questions," the man commented.

"You offered," Shikamaru countered. Hopefully his curiosity would be dismissed as a harmless interest towards his fellow female ninja wannabe.

"That's true." The man smiled thinly. "You know, you really remind me of your father, always so curious…"

Shikamaru would be honored if the man was talking about Shikaku, but he knew that he wasn't. To be perfectly honest, he really had no trouble with Hitoshi, but the man had grown more troublesome as the time passed, and Shikamaru had considered if it would not have been easier if he simply replaced him with a clone. There was something about the man that was just… _off_. Shikamaru had not determined what, but something about the man really rubbed him the wrong way.

Shikamaru inwardly shrugged the thought away, it was most likely just his annoyance speaking.

"So…?" Shikamaru trailed off.

The man sighed. "I don't know what really happened. At the time she almost finished her training, but…" A troubled look crossed his expression. "That girl, she hung herself."

Shikamaru felt his eyebrows rise into his hairline. "Did she…"

"No, she didn't die." The Akimichi waved away his concern. "Another student saved her just in time. It was your father actually," he said with a hint of pride.

That did sound like the kind of thing that Hitoshi would do, but what was the man even doing in there?

"Where is she now?" he asked. "Do I know her?"

Perhaps once all of this hassle was over Shikamaru could pay her a visit. If all of his efforts turned out to be a failure, the woman could be a valuable tool that could help him escape this place. That was, if the Yamanaka had not wiped her memories first, because Shikamaru would not believe even for a second that these people would let a loose end roam around with the information of their military base.

"Of course you know her, you've met her before. Not in the best circumstance though." The man grimaced.

_When exactly? _As far as Shikamaru was concerned, his transmigration into the past was a complete and utter nightmare, thus every second that he spent here would all be classified as an awful circumstance.

The man took note of his confused expression. "Didn't your father ever tell you?"

_Tell me what?_ Loathe as he was to say it, Shikamaru had to admit that Hitoshi was one of the most tight-lipped bastards he had ever met, a really _fine_ trait for a shinobi.

"You really don't know, do you?" the man muttered lowly, a hint of wonder tinted his voice.

That statement threw Shikamaru off a bit.

"Know what?" Shikamaru disguised his building trepidation under a calm mask.

The man shook his head. "If your own father never tells you about it, then I don't think that it is my place to say it."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Shikamaru stated without hesitation.

He could give two shits about such idealistic principles. Information was information; it could be a difference between life and death. It was not like the woman's identity would kill Hitoshi.

The man grinned, his smile knowing, as if they had just shared a dirty secret. "You really are your mother's daughter, are you?"

Shikamaru would have shuddered in horror if the fact that the man seemed to know everyone and everything that happened around this place did not pique his interest first.

"So…?" he echoed his earlier question.

The man scrutinized him, as if he still was not sure whether he should tell him the information.

Moment passed, and Shikamaru barely suppressed a smirk when the man finally opened his mouth.

"That girl... she was your mother's lover."

Shikamaru felt his brows arched.

"She was Hotaru."

* * *

Shikamaru loosened the collar of his yukata to allow his skin a bit more perspiration.

The heat from the sun pressed in on him. It was high noon and the sun shone with unrestrained brutality, few trees cast patches of half-hearted shade onto the baked courtyard. Sweat trickled down from his forehead to his neck and back in steady flow, his tied hair clung to his head in a pathetic bun. Shikamaru pushed a few strands of hair that clung into his face like a leech, inwardly wondering how he could get away with shaving his hair bald without having Hitoshi bitching at him.

He had been following his tour guide – the man finally introduced himself as Daisuke – for the last five minutes as the man marched under the glaring sun towards what Shikamaru suspected was the dojo on top of the hill. By amplifying his senses with chakra, he could hear the sharp clang of woods and metals; smell the rancid male sweats that permeated the air. Shikamaru felt tingles run down his fingers at the prospect of holding weapons again – the real one at least, not the kitchen knife and the frying pan that he had been using for practice.

By any means, Shikamaru was not a bloodthirsty shinobi, nor was he a sadist. Fighting was not something that he enjoyed – he even only enrolled into the academy out of boredom – he thought it was troublesome, pointless even. But he knew it was not because he was a pacifist, he simply never met opponents that could challenge him and force him to _actually_ fight. Whilst his fight with Hidan _was_ quite enjoyable, the immortal underestimated too much, and burying the man in his backyard became too easy. It was anticlimactic, and all of his battles onwards only felt like a disappointment. He became a Hokage, a miserable bastard who was chained to his damned desk, trying to do the impossible task of upholding the status quo, dealing with morons who refused to compromise, and having diplomatic meetings which produced no actual results whilst the world slowly burnt around him. He only fought out of obligation, not for a cause that he actually believed in.

Shikamaru had come into this barrack with the hope of having an opportunity to meet someone who was both unpredictable and challenging, someone he could beat the shit out of without his conscience constantly nagging at him – he had accumulated quite a significant amount of frustration and loathing towards life in general that sometimes he wondered if he was experiencing a premature case of midlife crisis – thus he was a bit disappointed when Daisuke walked past the foot of the hill into the direction of…

He squinted his eyes,

Of a bunch of children practicing chakra control.

Shikamaru knew why they went there, learning how to utilize one's chakra was the first step in one's training as shinobi. However, despite all of that, he still could not help the wave of indignation that coursed through of his being. As laid-back as he was, he was not _that_ much of a shitty shinobi, and to have all of his efforts dismissed – no matter how little they were – simply because he was stuck inside a little girl was both infuriating and insulting.

"We're going there?"

Daisuke turned his head. "Of course." He then raised his brow, his expression turned condescending. "You don't honestly expect that you can be suddenly adept at shinobi art just because you want to be one, do you?"

Shikamaru did not rise to the bait, his polite smile impeccable. "Of course not. But I think _you_," he paused, "no, _everyone_ misunderstood my intention. I'm not here to learn, I'm here to prove my qualification and be a shinobi."

Shikamaru watched as the corners of Daisuke's lips curled involuntarily. The man fought hard to suppress his mirth as his tattooed cheeks swelled momentarily with pressure, but it was no use. His laughter erupted, booming across the spacious clearing as he bent over, slapping his knee repeatedly.

Shikamaru on the other hand could only suppress the unbearable urge to roll his eyes in vexation_. _The man tried too hard to provoke him that it had started to become pathetic. It might have worked if he was an actual immature child, but since he was not, it only caused his annoyance to multiply tenfold. Was this a personality test? Did the man see through his bashful and well-mannered girl persona? Shikamaru was not sure.

"Oy, you're done?" he asked, his tone cold. He might as well give what the man wanted and stop wasting their time.

In a manner akin to a drunken man who suddenly gained sobriety, Daisuke's rambunctious laugh immediately stopped. The man straightened up, his seven-feet high figure towered over him like a parody of David and Goliath, a smug smile stretched over his scarred feature.

"Ah… I was wondering just how long you would keep that ridiculous charade on."

Shikamaru shrugged, he already saw this coming. "I just want to make the best impression. Since it doesn't work, there's no need to keep it up anymore."

Daisuke hummed and tapped his fingers against his chin, as if he was seriously contemplating his theatrical act. "I have to admit, your performance is rather astounding. You almost convince me that you're as dumb as you look." _Ouch._ "Others may not notice it, but I've been teaching for _years_ and met students with various characters. I can see how uncomfortable you are with keeping that smile on your face."

Shikamaru decided to play it dumb, playing the card of an innocent little girl. "That's what my mother taught me."

"Well she's dead, isn't she?" Shikamaru faked a flinch. "First lesson, you'll go nowhere if you only follow others' direction. You have to be your own person, then and _only_ then that you can bloom into a butterfly."

At least the man had some redeemable qualities. Despite being a bit of a jerk, from the passion in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes alone, Shikamaru could see that the man took his profession as teacher seriously and genuinely cared about his students.

"Do you really think that you have what it takes to be a shinobi?" Daisuke's eyes for once were perfectly neutral. There was no judgment or incredulity in those brown orbs, only a simple curiosity.

"I do," Shikamaru answered resolutely.

Daisuke nodded. "Then we'll go to the dojo. We're having a small tournament there. If you win, I'll allow you to participate in training. But if not," the Akimichi's expression hardened, "you'll pack your things, go home, and never set your foot in here again, _ever_. Do we have a deal?"

Shikamaru clasped his hand with the man's offered hand, his grip strong. "Deal."

"Then it's settled," he announced. "Follow me."

Shikamaru smirked towards the man's back, _gladly_.

* * *

"Boys, this is Nara-chan," Daisuke's large hand roughly patted his shoulder. "Nara-chan, meet the boys."

Shikamaru inclined his head, "Pleased to meet you."

"She will join us for our sparring session this week." Cued, staring. "As usual, the winner will get a reward. On this occasion, the winner will join our guest, Shikadai-kun," Daisuke motioned his hand towards a black haired boy who was leaning in the corner of the room; a sword was strapped at the belt in his waist. Shikadai Nara, the current Nara Clan heir and his future great-grandfather. The boy's resemblance with his descendants was uncanny. It almost felt like he was seeing his old face in the mirror, "with his team on their mission. The field experience will be very valuable for the upcoming evaluation, so make sure to do your best."

"Yes sensei," they chorused.

"This time we will do a Battle Royale. You will work in a team of three. If one of the team members is knocked out, the team will be automatically disqualified." Murmurs and groans broke inside the room, notwithstanding his. Now he could not pretend to pass out and attack when there was only one team left. _What a drag_.

"Be quiet!" Daisuke spiked his chakra. His eyes narrowed. "You are allowed to use taijutsu and bukijutsu, but no lethal attacks. The last team standing will be the winner. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Now scram!"

As the boys scrambled to form teams, Shikamaru surveyed the weapon pouches that his would-be-opponents had and addressed the man beside him. "Do you have any weapon that I can borrow?"

Daisuke did not spare him a glance. "No. Everyone here makes their own weapon, and you're not an exception."

Shikamaru nodded his head in understanding. It would be for the best not to show any bias, he did not want others to think that he was an inadequate brat who was taken in only out of sheer whining. Though taijutsu was not his main preference, it did not mean that his skill at it was abysmal.

"Alright then. Who will be on my team?"

Daisuke's mouth twitched. "No one. Their numbers are already even, which make you on your own team." _Of course they are_, and that was why one of the team only had two members. What a load of shit. He redacted his earlier thought. The man was a petty bastard through and through. "It is my sacred duty as a teacher to make sure that everyone under my tutelage reaches their best potential," Daisuke said sagely. "You seem to be very eager to prove your skill, so this could be the chance for you to shine."

It was not the matter of winning. He could kill everyone in this room within ten seconds if he wished to – he was not chosen as Hokage for nothing – and he could be a vicious monster if he preferred to, but he _wouldn't_. Shikamaru was many things, but the thought of beating children just left a sour taste in his mouth, more than killing people in general. He had been hoping that Daisuke would give him needles that he could use to hit those children's pressure points and send them into a painless sleep, or at least a team member that would fight them in his stead. However, he had neither, and now he had to go against something that he believed in and beat those children just to gain a little freedom. He could not even make Daisuke fight him instead, attracting more attention was the last thing that he needed right now. After six years of consecutive waiting – only able to scheme inside his head with no actual chance of escape – he really could not afford to lose. Such a priceless opportunity might not come again.

Shikamaru spared Daisuke one last glance – he would deal with his conscience later, it was now or never – before he walked past the pillars that held the two-story building together into the center of the dojo, where the sparring was being hosted.

Shikamaru avidly observed every twitch of movements his opponents made. The way their eyes darted over each other, scanning for threats. The way their hands hovered over their weapon pouches and the way their muscles tensed in anticipation. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed how Daisuke lifted his right hand into the air.

Shikamaru clenched his hands.

"Begin!"

* * *

Shikamaru jumped back and landed into a halt, his stolen kunai firmly poised in front of him.

This was troublesome. He had been waiting in the corner for most of the time. But as the competitors started thinning, some of them no longer ignored him and decided to attack. They were quite hesitant at first, but after consecutive failures in landing any hit on him, what was left of them started to gang up on him. He had been stalling for a while to tire them up, he'd rather not attack them unless necessary.

Shikamaru noticed the almost indiscernible nod of one of the team leaders before two opponents came at him from different directions, aiming for a punch. He smoothly ducked and slid on the wooden dojo floor, letting them collide with each other. The boss came at him. He jumped when the boy swept under his feet and deflected a kunai that was aimed at his cheek. He kneed the boy's abdomen to reduce their height difference and struck his jaw, knocking him out and effectively disqualifying his team.

Shikamaru rolled away at the last minute to avoid barracks of shuriken that were aimed at him towards a grinning brunette who thought he would not see through his team ploy. Shikamaru evaded his punch, then a kick, and a punch again. When the boy slashed forward with his kunai, Shikamaru crouched low to evade the strike and used his hands as a spring before landing a firm kick onto the boy's chest, sending him tumbling into the floor. He breathed out a relieved sigh when he noticed him breathing. He did not hit too hard then.

Shikamaru wiped the dust and sweat that glistened his palms as he walked towards Daisuke's direction, ignoring the butthurt boys who were not-so-secretly glaring at him. His nonchalant expression and slouched posture only managed to aggravate them even more, _good_. To be able to survive in the shinobi world, one had to understand humility and know when it was the time to make tactical retreat, regardless of what one's pride might dictate.

He kind of understood their feelings. They already trained since they could walk, but here he was, an oddball who suddenly came out of nowhere with abilities already on par with them if not more, and he was only using taijutsu and bukijutsu. It was not even his fault, it was not like it was an everyday occurrence for some random ninja to suddenly be sent into the past and trapped inside a baby's body, and he needed to flaunt some skills to sway Daisuke to put in good words about him to the Clan Head – no matter how unlikely it was since the man was such an ass. So if they wanted to vent their anger at someone, they were welcomed to complain to whatever person or thing that had placed him here – or just kicked Hitoshi in the balls, since the man helped to conceive Shikari.

Shikamaru stopped in front Daisuke's line of sight. The man was leaning against the railing on the second floor with Shikadai lounging beside him. The man's expression was unreadable, the light that had filtered through the window only managed to highlight the scar that ran from his cheek to his jaw even more, making him look more intimidating. But there was this teeny-tiny smile that graced his lips, it was barely visible, but it was there.

It made him wary. He did not like it at all.

"Good performance Nara-chan. I know my trust in you is not mistaken."

_Trust my ass_, he scoffed inwardly. But still, Shikamaru respectfully bowed his head in mandatory gratitude. "Thank you sir."

The man gave a tiny acknowledgment and averted his eyes to the other trainees. "Do you know what you did wrong?"

An auburn haired boy, one of the last trainees to be eliminated stepped forward. "We underestimated her, sensei."

"_Very_." Daisuke gave them a stern look. "Everyone is potentially dangerous, _everyone_. No matter how frail looking your opponent may be, remember to always face them seriously. Is that clear?"

"Yes sensei!" they chorused.

"Good. Now make the seal of reconciliation."

Shikamaru smiled and offered his hand to a boy nearest to him. "Peace?"

After a small hesitation, the Yamanaka locked his fingers against him and replied with a smile of his own, "Peace."

Shikamaru continued to do so with the others. Some were reluctant whilst some were indifferent; some refused and glared at him as if he had a particularly contagious case of leprosy. Oh well, at least he did not accidentally kill anyone.

"Nara-chan, as promised, you can join us for the next seven days. I will not go easy on you, so prepare yourself," Daisuke ordered. "Be ready for your mission at six. Shikadai-kun will meet you at the mess hall. Remember not to be late and make a fool out of yourself."

"Yes sir." The girl bowed and walked out of the dojo.

Once the girl slid the door closed, Daisuke averted his gaze towards his students and straightened.

"The rest of you, go to the courtyard and practice your katas, _barefoot_. Whilst doing so, reflect on how and why you can lose to a scrawny little _girl_. You're an embarrassment not only to yourself, but to me and your family."

"I expect you to be better. I _want_ you to be better. I don't ask much of you, I simply want you to survive. And to be able to survive, you have to be strong. I have had enough of my former students' deaths weighing down on me, and I don't need yours too." Daisuke paused to let his words sunken in. "Now go," he dismissed, his tone deathly soft.

They quietly shuffled and walked out of the dojo, their shame was palpable and clogging the air. Daisuke on the other hand allowed himself a liberty of a smile at sight. It appeared he still had not lost his touch.

"Ne… sensei, aren't you too harsh on them?" the voice beside him chimed.

Daisuke scoffed. "You're the one to talk, as if you weren't the one who suggested a Battle Royale in the first place."

Shikadai shrugged. "We need to test just how far they would go to follow their order, how far their loyalty runs with their comrades. Granted, we can't exactly have accurate data without making them kill each other, but they are obedient enough. They work together pretty well despite being tasked to eliminate each other."

"That's mostly because they all have a common enemy." His gaze fixed on the now deserted dojo.

"That may be true, but my point still stands nonetheless." Shikadai rested his chin on top of his folded hands. "You're going to use her as a bait, aren't you? 'Favor one person to motivate the others', that's why you compliment her in such a public manner. You do know that the others are going to give her a hard time, right?"

"She will handle it. She _has_ to if she wants to stay here. Although her movements are a bit stiff and shaky, she has potential. It will be beneficial for everyone. Plus, the isolation should tone down her arrogance and make her stronger." _Or lead into a mental breakdown_, was left unsaid.

Shikadai grunted noncommittally.

The girl _is_ good. She fought well and knew how to take advantage of her situation. She stayed calm even though she was surrounded from all sides. And that gait of her, he did not think of it as arrogance, she was simply confident in what she was doing. The girl was smart, her movements were calculated, and she acknowledged her weakness. What she lacked in strength, she complimented it with her agility. However, the girl had one fatal shortcoming. It was obvious from the way she always pulled her punches back at the last second that she was hesitant in hurting her opponents, that was why her movements were spasmodic. She did not want to hurt others, as expected from a woman.

Then why bother?

Why did she want to be a shinobi when she was unwilling to do the dirty deeds that came with it?

Such an odd girl.

…

Unbeknownst to them, the topic of their conversation was standing outside the building, hearing their whole conversation with chakra enhanced ears.

* * *

Solitude of silence hung around him. Only the beats of his heart could be heard amongst the hooting of owls and the chirping of crickets. The moon was a ghostly-silver orb hanging in the lonely sky. Its beams were slightly obscured by drifting clouds, alternately casting lights and shadows over the land. His eyes flickered down from his position on the thick, dark branch of the tall tree that he perched on, towards the interlocking branches of trees below him. The trees were densely packed together, a perfect place for ninja to travel.

Shikamaru should have been doing patrols with Shikadai and his lackeys, but naturally, he bailed out and wandered a few miles away from their settlement's border. He had tasked one of his clones to do the patrol in his stead whilst the other one explored the terrain and mapped it. He himself was stargazing, or at least he _was_ going to until he remembered that today was a full moon. If its bright light had not washed out all but the brightest stars already, those grey-white clouds surely would have.

Shikamaru had intended to do something productive as an alternative, but then the moon reminded him of Kaguya, and Kaguya reminded him about Konoha, which in turn reminded him of his unborn comrades and his peculiar situation. Thus, for the last two hours, he had been sitting here, contemplating about his existence and whether he had any purpose by being here – _Was he being punished? Was this a second chance? Was he a mistake? What was he even doing? _Shikamaru had planned many scenarios inside his head, from something perfectly innocuous into something that was completely outrageous. He had so many things that he wanted to do but at the same time _don't_, because doing things required investing one's time, thoughts, and efforts into them – he really did not feel like it – and he could only spam so many clones from his average chakra reserve to run his errands before he finally dropped dead from chakra exhaustion.

Shikamaru stopped his line of thoughts and groaned. This just proved it, he was having a midlife crisis – or was it a quarter-life? – He still would not reach that age for another two decades or so, but he felt so tired and old and bored already, absolutely _bored_. And in his boredom, he would have started another round of meaningless debate with himself if not for the influx of chakra and memories that suddenly entered him. He almost fell out of the tree if not for his quick reflex.

Shikamaru frowned. His scouting clone had been dispelled. Its last memory was that it was harmlessly mapping an area and minding its own business, before it was roughly shoved into the tree bark and met its demise. But _who_ killed it?

His mind flickered to the area that it had been scouting. He racked his brain for the map that Shikadai had shown him before the mission and recreated it inside his head. He remembered that there were dots with clans' insignias scribbled under them scattered on it, Shikadai explained that they were the general location of other clans' hideouts and guard posts in relation with their border, a.k.a. the places that they should avoid during their patrol if they did not want to be dragged into a fight. He mentally calculated the distance that his clone would have reached with its average speed – taking into account the limited visibility of the forest and the various stops that it would certainly take to fulfill its duty – and came to the conclusion that it would have trespassed someone else's territory by now.

_But where?_

Shikamaru hopped and balanced himself at the top of the tree to search for the Polaris. He traced his finger against the dark sky and imagined the connecting lines from the Big Dipper._ There! _If he were facing the north, that would mean that he had come from the south, which meant his clone had gone to the north-east, and the north-east was…

Uchiha hideout?

Shikamaru pressed his palm against his face in a mixture of chronic embarrassment and exasperation.

That _moron_! What was it doing there? Had he not given it an explicit instruction to _stay away_ from other clans? The only plausible explanation that Shikamaru could come up with was that the clone had stumbled upon something very worthwhile, so much that it was willing to disobey its creator order and travel that far to explore the area. _But what?_

Shikamaru inspected his clone's memories again. The terrains it mapped looked relatively average for Land of Fire. There was a river that he recognized as one that connected it to the Land of Rivers. However, other than that, there was nothing distinctive.

What then? What did it find?

Technically speaking, he still had four hours before his shift was over, and theoretically, that should be enough time for him to travel there and return to the border again. However, so many things could go wrong within the span of a few hours, and Shikamaru was not sure if he was willing to disturb the temporary balance and tranquility that he had worked so hard to achieve for something that might not actually be worth the effort. On the other hand, there was this nagging voice inside his head, claiming about how he would get nowhere with his unwillingness to take what he opinionated as an unnecessarily dumb risk, about how he was avoiding his maximum potential and missed an opportunity to grow.

He snorted. _I can't grow if I'm dead, am I?_

_But what if I don't? _He thought again. What if he actually found something important, an important piece of puzzle that could make some sense into his situation? Besides, loitering around someone else's territory was not exactly a crime as long as one did not get caught, and sneaking around was something that had become one of his best specialties.

Shikamaru sighed, the hell with it. He had nothing else to do anyway. He tightened the clasps of his too-big armor and jumped into the lower tree branch, before he broke into a run towards his clone's latest location.

Whatever happens, happens.


	6. Fire Meet Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But that's why you - a dreamer - are here.
> 
> To change our mind, to convince us pessimist that peace isn't just a fool's dream, to show us killers that there's another way to live - that we too, deserve happiness.
> 
> To show me, that you are not just another emotional and easily manipulated moron that can't even think for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_"Thousands of cherry trees dissolve into the night _

_You will sing, and I will dance_

_This is a banquet inside a steel jail cell,_

_So shoot randomly and ceaselessly with your ray gun"_

_ **Vocaloid, Senbonzakura** _

* * *

Pinpointing his clone's last known location, it appeared, was harder than he expected. Quite understandable, since the only thing that he could rely upon as a direction was a slowly diminishing memory of his clone's little adventure through what in all honesty was a tenebrous and indistinct land of overgrown vegetation.

His situation brought him both joy and dismay. Joy that his clone was able to infiltrate a formidable enemy's territory whilst wholly suppressing its chakra – leaving little to no trace in its wake; and dismay – dismay that tracking the paths that it had taken became such a nuisance, and that he had to face the probabilities of his clone either became defected enough to let its presence be known, or that he was facing against foes that were able to sense others' presences even when their chakra had been fully suppressed. Neither scenario was preferable.

Shikamaru continued to traverse through the vast expanse of the jungle for the next half-hour. His pace was lax, but steady. His eyes were alert, constantly scanning his surroundings for signs of traps and threats whilst at the same time searching for any distinctive landmark that might have attracted his clone.

It was when Shikamaru was perched atop one of the taller trees that he felt faint presences ahead of him. He was not a sensor ninja; his limited ability to sense chakra was earned through years of grueling experience of being a shinobi. He could not determine their exact number from his current distance – only providing a rough estimation – but he was confident that they were below ten.

After a split-second in which he mulled over whether he should follow them, Shikamaru decided to take a risk and postponed his current objective. Whoever it was that he was sensing, they were moving very fast – as if chasing after something; a trespasser most likely.

Not too long after he started his pursuit, Shikamaru found himself standing in a battleground littered with six death bodies – all of which were warriors of the Senju Clan. One of them was half-submerged in the river – a river which he recognized as the one that he saw in his clone's memory – one was being eaten by a herd of crows, whilst the rest were pierced by multiple weapons in various places.

Shikamaru frowned. His forehead creased in thought.

No wonder his trip was unhindered. The shinobi who were supposed to be on patrols must have been busy with killing their archenemy.

He better saved the remaining Senju then. He owed them at least that much for keeping the patrolling team out of his back.

Shikamaru wasted no time and quickly salvaged a multitude of weapons and equipment from the dead shinobi. He felt slightly bad about it – who knew if their families wanted to keep them as a memento – but as of now Shikamaru was quite desperate. He did not have any proper weapon on his person, prick-sensei made sure of it, and relying on ninjutsu was simply not efficient. It was illogical to sacrifice his limited chakra reserve when he could use free and disposable weapons instead. Not to mention, the surge of chakra would no doubt attract unwanted attention.

As a sign of gratitude, he used a specific type of scroll that he had found, the one that was used to contain the dead body, and sealed each of them within separate scrolls. The least that he could do was ensure that they were returned to their families to receive a proper burial.

Once he was done, he immediately continued his pursuit to save the remaining clansmen. He pumped his chakra into his short legs and pushed them to their limit. Within a short time, he already closed in the considerable distance and getting closer to the lads in distress and their band of stalkers. He followed them as they tread along the border, criss-crossing creeks and meadows alike in a game of cat and mouse.

He then felt the presences dispersed, the pursuer most likely had decided to split up and cornered their target. Before long, the presences had all come to a halt in the no-man's-land ahead of the Uchiha's border – the east one, he concluded – which meant somewhere in the distance would be the Senju's territory, he belatedly realized. He'd better finished his deed quick, he did not want to be caught in whatever tug of war that they were having.

Shikamaru decreased his speed and forego running altogether, opting for a stealthier approach. His steps were light, producing no sound as he silently danced around the trees, tiptoeing beneath the protective cover of the shadow with practiced ease. His chakra was cloaked under chakra disguise. If anyone were to detect him, they would sense a squirrel instead. He then sneaked as close as he could to his targets, hiding behind a tree trunk and assessed his situation.

There were five hostiles, Uchiha insignia was proudly emblazoned on the back of their attires. They were not decked in armor, but they were heavily armed. Shikamaru slipped his hand into his pilfered weapon pouch, his eyes were trained to his enemies and surrounding whilst his hands worked to prepare his weapons.

Shikamaru could not see the Senju clearly, but he could hear him panting from exhaustion. He sounded young.

There were five seconds of silence before one of Uchiha suddenly moved, flicking his kunai to the cornered shinobi. Shikamaru sprang into action and deftly threw the needles in his hands. One deflected the kunai's trajectory, one hit an Uchiha dead in the neck – rendering him unconscious – whilst the others missed their targets entirely. They still served their purpose nevertheless, which was to attract the hostiles' attention.

Taking advantage of human's natural instinct to look towards disturbance, Shikamaru started his assault by sending two flash bombs towards them, temporarily blinding their sharingan. Knowing that they would rely on their other senses, Shikamaru sent another barrage of needles that were tied with bells as a cover.

What transpired next could only be described as a needle shower, _literally_.

Shikamaru threw barrage upon barrage of needles to his opponents from his position at the top of the tree, some were laced with sedative (or was it poison? He did not have the time to check). Knowing that their eyes would enable them to predict the needles' movements, he threw another batch of flash bombs towards them. Not giving them a chance to recover, Shikamaru pulled the strings that were attached to the bells on the previous barrage of needles and rang them from unexpected positions, distracting his opponents long enough for him to rain them with needles again. The fact that they gave a false pretense about his actual number and location did not hurt either.

Shikamaru only stopped once the shouts of threats and curses had stopped, once he had heard the thuds of all the bodies hitting the ground. He might have gone overboard with his approach, but he did not want to take any risk with using ninjutsu. Who knew if one of them was a sensor? It was better to stay anonymous.

Shikamaru was about to come out of his hiding place when he heard someone groan.

Earlier, he had decided to use needles because he preferred not to kill anyone. However, since he had to protect his own eyes from the bombs, he had no option but to throw them blind (even his ears were useless; he could detect their position, but he could not 'see' the body parts that he should aim), thus he had to rely on their quantity instead. Now his needle supply was pretty much gone.

Troublesome.

Shikamaru darted his eyes to the surrounding branches, searching for something that could be used as an impromptu weapon. He glanced up and down, left and right. _Oh, there!_

As quick as lighting, he immediately plucked the gruff looking mammal that was perching by the branch in his right, and hurtled it towards the last man standing. Shikamaru regretted it a second later when he realized that his target was actually the Senju shinobi that he was supposed to save.

Too bad for him, the Senju was too disoriented to dodge the oncoming missile. The black and white mammal hit him square in the abdomen before it bounced off of his green armor. Shikamaru grimaced when the skunk suddenly turned, barring its behind to the world and sprayed the poor guy.

Thankfully the boy still had enough sense to protect his head from the full onslaught, although he did look like he was torn between bursting into tears and quenching his urge to vomit.

The boy could not be older than ten, probably around eight or nine. His appearance was a bit strange. His hair consisted of two-toned hair, with one side being black and the other half being white with matching eyebrows. Shikamaru might not have an in-depth knowledge in genetics, but he knew enough that hereditary simply did not work like – well… _that_.

Honestly, he kind of looked like a skunk. Who knew, perhaps the skunk had sprayed him because it thought the boy was another skunk who was trespassing its territory. Even better, the skunk might have been trying to court the boy because it thought the boy made an attractive skunk.

Oh well…

Banishing the ridiculous thought from his mind, Shikamaru swiftly created a clone and tossed it the scrolls that contained the Senju corpses. He was willing to help, but there was _no way_ that he would move an inch closer to the skunk boy. His clone would be enough.

The clone applied a transformation technique to alter its appearance as per its creator's standard protocol before it jumped to the ground, shuffling slightly at the grass beneath its feet.

Skunk boy tensed.

"Peace," the clone stated. It held its hands up in what it believed to be a non-threatening gesture. "I simply want to help." It gestured to the needles that nicked the boy's left leg.

"But I smell horrible, like really stink." The boy sniffled. His nose was scrunched up as he suffered from the abuse to his olfactory system.

"Don't worry," it assured, "I've smelt worse."

The boy nodded tersely, offering no further answer.

The clone came closer and knelt beside the boy. He handed it a first aid kit from his pouch. The clone gestured for the boy to extend his leg.

"What's your name?" the clone asked conversably as it applied pressure around the needle before it plucked out the needle with its gloved hand.

Skunk boy winced. "Itama. What's yours?"

"My name is not important." It plucked another needle. "The real question is what are you doing here? You're far from home."

"That's none of your business. What are you – ouch, careful there! – What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was exploring the land, but I got lost." The clone rolled the boy's pants and fishnet up before it applied pressures to the wounds with a clean cloth. "Somewhere along the way I found the battlefield with your dead clansmen in it. I felt your presence, and them," it gestured to the unconscious bodies beside them, "and I decided to help."

The clone slipped its free hand into its pocket and tossed the scrolls in his pocket to the boy's lap. "Here."

"Are these...?" Itama trailed off. His eyes flickered back and forth between the stranger and the all-too-familiar scrolls.

"Yeah, they should return to their family. But I kind of scavenge their weapons to save you, so yeah, sorry about that," the clone continued sheepishly.

"Oh wow… I– I don't know what to say. That's… that's very kind of you. Sometimes they don't even return, but when they do…" Itama smiled ruefully, blinking back his tears at the memory. "Kawarama, he came back in pieces..." the boy muttered to himself, voice barely audible.

The clone shifted uncomfortably.

Itama cleared his throat. "Anyway, you can keep the weapons. You'll need them to defend yourself. The Uchiha are over there." He jutted his chin to the forest behind them. "They're ruthless. It's the least that we can give you."

"Thank you."

Itama nodded. "No problem." He averted his gaze away from the clone. "You were really cool back then – a bit crazy, but still… all of them down within ten seconds." He laughed bitterly. "I wish I was that strong."

"Hey, a kid against five grown men is not a fair fight. The fact that they went after you proves that they think of you as someone powerful." The clone smiled warmly, the gesture seemed to ease the boy a bit. "Um, do you happen to know the thing that coats the needles? I got them from the guy with a scar in his cheek. There's a possibility that you might be poisoned," it warned.

"Yeah, that's Akio-san," Itama smiled thinly, "and it's hemlock," he said. "But I'm already immune to it."

The clone nodded its head, cataloguing the information it had acquired. _Hemlock_, it echoed inside its mind. The other thing that he noticed was the fact that the boy said _already_, which meant his immunity towards the poison was built up with time, not as the part of his innate immune system. Boss might be interested in it.

Then there was the matter of the needles themselves. It was unclear whether they were sterile or not, thus there was a possibility that the skunk boy would suffer from tetanus. The lack of vaccines in this era was concerning. However, Boss did not give any further instructions on how to deal with it.

"Okay… But do you have the antidote? Just in case," the clone inquired as it swiped a bit of alcohol around the wounds for precaution. It then wrapped the boy's leg with a bandage before it rolled down the boy's pants and fishnet to their earlier position.

"I'll do it at home," Itama answered briskly.

The clone almost chuckled at the misleading answer. It would bet its imaginary money that the boy had the antidote in his person, but refused to reveal its existence, probably to prevent Boss from using his own clansman's weapon against him. Rule number one on utilizing poison as a weapon was to always have the antidote, no matter what.

The boy was already at a disadvantage as it was, he knew that he was not in the position to strike a bargain – he even let Boss kept those weapons just to appease him – thus he would hold onto the only bargaining chip he had, which was an antidote that would be ready to use in case Boss suffered from the effect of the hemlock.

Boss was not an amateur though, and he was definitely not reckless enough to accidentally poison himself, but the clone indulged the skunk boy anyway. "Of course," the clone said with a smile.

The clone then stood and extended its hand to help the boy. "Can you find your own way home?"

Itama tightly gripped the shorter boy's hand and pulled himself up. He moved his toes and stretched his legs, he seemed to be good to go. "Yep, definitely."

The clone nodded. "I'm going to be very honest with you. You smell awful, _absolutely_ awful, and you will remain so for the next few days, a week even. So if you have even a shred of sympathy towards your family, you will shower at somewhere secluded. Don't do it at the river though, keep that whiff of hell to yourself."

Itama groaned, but a hint of genuine smile touched his lips. "Ugh, don't remind me, I'm traumatized enough. It's your fault anyway."

"Still better than being dead."

Itama waved his hands. The disgusting and noxious odor clung around him like a second skin. "Aren't I already?"

"Don't be dramatic." The clone rolled its eyes good-naturedly. "Just use tomato. It won't completely remove the stench, but at least you won't smell as vile."

"I hate tomatoes. It's gross."

The clone shrugged. "If you want to stay that way then be my guest."

Skunk boy bit his lower lip. "Let's just say I'm willing to try it, so how should I do it?"

The clone tilted its head. "Well, have someone pour tomato juice all over your skin while you stand in the bath. What doesn't stick to your skin will drain into the bath water. So sit down and soak yourself in it for another 15 or 20 minutes. Use as little water as possible – but still covers you completely – because you want the tomato juice's concentration to be as high as possible. Oh, and don't forget to rinse it through your hair a couple of times too. You have to do it until the smell wears off." It paused. "I think that's pretty much it."

Itama shuddered, as if the thought of bathing in the red fruit physically pained him. Was it because the color reminded him of blood? "Don't you have any other alternative?"

"Of course, I have. It's an instant one, in fact." Not even a skunk's spray could stand in the way of hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. "But my employee is the one that can make it, so you have to buy it." Because there was no way that Boss would be willing to synthesize the former for free, especially since they were stuck in this backwater era, but he might be with the right incentive.

"How much?"

The clone shrugged. "He doesn't need money, he prefers information instead."

"About what?"

"Normally, who's friends with whom, who their enemies are – boring sort of things. But currently he's interested in geography, especially that of the Land of Fire, so you can probably barter the potion with a map."

"A map, huh?" Itama nibbled his lip. "Is he the one who sent you to… what did you call it, _explore_, the enemy's territory in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah." The clone scratched the back of its head, acting bashful. "He makes bizarre requests most of the time, but he's alright. He gives me food and shelter, teaches me how to defend myself… that's more than what anyone else would give me. So yeah, I'll happily explore the enemy's territory for him."

Itama stared at the clone. Myriad of emotions flickered through his eyes, ranging from sympathy, understanding, sadness, and the most profound of all – respect.

The clone felt like a scum.

"I'll consult with my brothers first before I make any decision, but I... I'll definitely think about it."

The clone smiled, its expression betrayed nothing. "Well… if you're interested, tomorrow you can come to the civilian village just a few miles south-east of here." A clone could sneak out and deliver the skunk remedy potion in Boss' stead. "You better hurry before you accidentally kill someone with your stench though," it jested as an afterthought.

Itama laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "I don't know how you haven't gotten fired yet, but you're an awful merchant."

The clone gasped dramatically, clutching its chest. "How could you?! You wound my fragile heart."

Itama managed to stifle his laugh, but he failed to keep the smile off of his face. "Stop it." The clone made a stupid face. "Kami, you're ridiculous." The boy shook his head. "I'll never return home if you keep on making stupid jokes."

"They make you laugh, don't they?"

"Yes… yes, they do." Itama smiled softly. "Thank you for that, and for saving my life."

The clone grinned. "No problem. We, child soldiers, always keep each other's back."

The boy gave him one last smile before he turned on his heels and disappeared into the tree line.

The clone tilted its head. It waited until it could no longer sense the boy's presence.

"Mission accomplished…" it muttered under its breath before it dispelled itself.

Shikamaru opened his eyes when the influx of chakra and memories entered him. It was nice of the clone to try to cheer the boy up. However, the rest of their conversation, baring the identity of the poison, pretty much went over his head.

Hemlock was a nasty plant. In sufficient doses it acted as a paralyzer to the centers of motion, perfect to immobilize someone. However, overdose could lead to respiratory depression (central depression was also a possibility), which in turn could lead to asphyxia, and eventually – death. The scariest part was the fact that the mind remained unaffected until the last.

Whilst his clone was conversing with the young Senju, Shikamaru had been keeping tabs on his victims, making sure that he had not accidentally offended them. So far he had not, but the chance that none of them were hit by poisonous needles was minuscule at best, and Shikamaru refused to be held responsible for making angry Uchiha storming at his home turf. The Senju could have them all for themselves, Shikamaru couldn't care less.

Shikamaru jumped into the ground and supervised his practice targets. One man was unconscious. The other four were still conscious, but paralyzed. He hovered over the paralyzed men, checking their breathing. One had a particularly shallow breathing, he was very pale.

Shikamaru knelt down beside him, putting a kind smile on his face. "Hey there, just hang on a bit. I'm going to help you, okay?"

Only a stare greeted him. The man's pupils were blown wide.

Shikamaru slid his hand into his back pocket where he kept his first aid kit and unseal a bag valve mask. (Nara Clan might not be the primary choice when it came to guerrilla warfare and the likes, but when it came to the field of medicine, they would always be the most advanced.) However, just as he was about to position the mask, he heard the crunching of dry twigs from his left. He masked his frown when he did not sense anything.

Shikamaru sighed. "You do realize that there's no point in hiding anymore, do you? I know you're there."

No response.

"Look, I still have four other people to attend to. So instead of being a creepy stalker, why don't you just help me with them instead?"

The stranger came closer. Shikamaru looked up.

"I don't know what your problem is, but normal people won't hurt others just to heal them again."

* * *

When he went on a patrol tonight, Madara did not expect for anything peculiar to happen in his daily routine. He had woken up early in the morning, he had trained, and then he had showered and studied before he returned to tinker with the seal that he had been working on. So far he had made little to no progress with it. He still had not figured out how to bypass the energy issue.

Although his last few days had been nothing but an endless headache and frustration, Madara still refused to give up. His pride would not let him admit defeat. However, as much as he liked to think of himself as an optimist, he was not blind enough as to not acknowledge the fact that he was going nowhere, thus he decided to take a break and do patrol instead. There was always something interesting happening in the forest, and if he were to do something productive, he might as well amuse himself.

Madara patrolled around the border. On his way he had witnessed a trespasser exploding to pieces after the idiot had idiotically steeped into a mine. He had lingered for a while, unsure about what he should do. He eventually walked away when he realized that he did not care. He then had found a couple making out beneath a tree, they looked like an average Uchiha – Madara was pretty sure that they were siblings – it was gross, and he hoped they got struck by lightning, despite the chance that it happened was rather unlikely. His patrol went more mundane after that, there were no trespassers, nothing interesting happened either.

That was, until he found the explorer.

The explorer was small. He was also young, younger than Izuna. For a while Madara had entertained the idea that the boy was lost – since he was only walking around like he did not even know his own destination – but the strange boy quickly proved that he was, in fact, exploring.

He would check the soil, the trees, the fruits – anything that he could touch. It appeared the boy was not even aware that he was in the enemy's territory (perhaps he didn't care). However, what made Madara wary of him was the fact that he could not sense him, at all, even when he could definitely confirm with his own two eyes that he existed and was not just the part of an elaborate illusion his mind had conjured. Madara then had sneaked up on him, intending to discover his identity. But when Madara pushed him into a tree – perhaps a bit too roughly – the explorer simply disappeared in a poof of smoke.

It was _weird_.

Madara continued to patrol about an hour or so after that, hunting small animals and just walking around in boredom since nothing interesting had occurred. He was about to go home when he heard shouting nearby. He suppressed his chakra and broke into a run. He hid behind a tree and arrived just in time to witness his clansmen being attacked by a barrage of needles. He stayed put of course, because someone had to assess the level of threat for future intel.

What happened next was very strange. Senju boy was sprayed by a skunk (Madara almost cackled when he saw it), then the assailants revealed themselves as an assailant – a very small assailant which also turned out to be the explorer. Madara watched as he (She? It?) patched up the Senju boy and sent him away, before he disappeared again. Then another explorer – were they the same person? – dropped down from the tree and moved closer to his clansmen. She (the face was too feminine to be a boy – but then again, some boys did have a feminine faces, so it was debatable) unsealed a weird contraption and brought it closer to the man. In his hurry to take a closer look, Madara unknowingly stepped on dry twigs and gave away his position.

He knew of course that there was no point in hiding anymore, so he revealed himself. He had prepared himself for a fight – almost craving for it, in fact. However, as usual, things didn't go as planned. One thing led to another, and now he was obediently sitting on the ground, holding the mask to Isamu-san's face whilst the explorer's earth clone pumped air into his lungs. The explorer herself was tending to the other four.

"How are they?" the boy inquired curiously.

Shikamaru looked up.

"This guy," Shikamaru gestured to the man that he had struck in the neck, a bandage wrapped around his neck, "will need one week to recover. He may look dead, but he's actually not, so don't accidentally bury him. They on the other hand," Shikamaru nodded to the three men he had just finished tending to, "should be fine in a few hours. The poison mostly affects the skeletal muscle and some, but their heartbeat and breathing are fine. I've put them to sleep to let them rest."

He also had sent a controlled burst of chakra into their brain stem to replace their recollection of him and his clone with that of a complete stranger, but the boy did not need to know that.

Shikamaru averted his gaze to the man that was lying a few feet away from him. "Has his breathing improved?" The man was hit by the poisonous needles in various places, most likely because he took the brunt of them for his teammates.

The boy pursed his lips, he looked worried. "He regains his color back, but I don't think he's even breathing on his own anymore."

Shikamaru checked his pulse. _Too slow_, he thought. "Alright. He's getting worse. I'll have to extract the poison."

Madara glared at the girl. "And it never occurs to you to do that before he's dying?!"

"This poison doesn't have a median lethal dose, I don't know how each person is going to react to it. It usually takes 3 hours to kill, but this guy is already dying within thirty. The treatment is also symptomatic, so yeah, I have to wait until the symptoms show. If I took any action before that, I might make his condition worse." Shikamaru explained calmly. "I'm going to be honest with you though. The procedure that I'm going to do is extremely pain–"

"Just fix him already!" the boy snapped.

Shikamaru scowled. "Jeez, fine." Shikamaru removed his gloves and started cutting the man's shirt in the middle, muttering under his breath about an unruly brat who did not respect his elder as he did so. "There's no need to shout, you troublesome boy…"

Shikamaru glanced up and addressed his clone. "Keep me updated with his vitals. Make sure he's breathing." His eyes flickered to the boy. "Once I remove the poison, he'll start to regain his muscle control back and start struggling. Can you make one or two clones to restrain him?"

The boy nodded. "Just tell me when to make them."

Shikamaru nodded curtly. He channeled chakra into his hands, and they both glowed green.

* * *

"Boss… he's having a seizure. His heartbeat is elevating very fast."

"…."

"Boss!"

"Just hold on for a second, I'm almost done!"

The boy's clone scrambled to hold the man down.

"No, don't stop his movement! Just let it happen!"

.

.

.

"Wow…"

"What is it now?"

"Shit, no wonder he's dying. I'm surprised he survives this long. He has dextrocardia, probably situs inversus too."

"What do _those_ even mean? Speak clearly!"

"It means the apex of his heart is located on the right side of his body, as opposed to the left side – where it normally is."

"That needle hit him in the heart?!"

.

.

"His heart is not beating!"

"Boss?"

"CPR," he ordered.

Shikamaru pushed his chakra into the man, mending where the poison had affected the heart muscle.

.

.

"It's not working, he's dead…"

"Not yet."

"What do you mean not yet?!"

"Boss, your chakra control is not good enough for _it_, and we have no defibrillator." _Not even electricity._

"We can still do an open cardiac massage."

"A what…?"

"Boss will manually pump his heart, with hi– her hand."

"_What_?!"

"If it's any consolation, my hand is very small. I don't need a big incision."

"…."

"Uchiha-san, we don't have much time."

"…You're crazy." Madara looked away. "Please save him."

"…I'll try."

* * *

"Drink this." Madara shoved the bottle into the crazy girl's face.

The girl blankly eyed the liquid.

Madara sighed and took an exaggerated sip. "See, not poisonous."

The girl took the bottle from him and emptied it in record time. "You got another?"

Madara frowned, but he handed her his spare water anyway. He did not know where she had learned it, or which clan that possessed such knowledge, but the girl had done an amazing feat.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"Like I'm dying." The girl swallowed three ration pills. "How about you? You're not going to puke on me, are you?"

"I'm fine," Madara mumbled, feeling heat creeping up to his neck at the reminder of the incident which they shall never speak about again. "I'm feeling a bit disgusted," the girl snorted, "but mostly fine."

Silence descended between them. The girl shifted and leaned against the tree bark. The moonlight illuminated her dark eyes, those blank canvas devoid of emotion were deep in thought. Madara on the other hand shifted on his feet, unsure whether he should stay or look after his clansmen. Isamu-san was no longer within grave danger, and he, just like the others, was now sleeping. Even if Madara decided to keep an eye on them, he could see his clansmen from here just fine, thus returning there again felt a bit redundant.

"Are you really just going to stand there all night?" The girl broke him out of his reverie. She patted the ground beside her. "Sit. They won't go anywhere, you know."

Madara sat beside her. "I know, it's just… habit, I guess." He picked a small rock and fiddled it.

The girl glanced at him, her brows arched. "How long have you been a shinobi?"

Madara pressed his lips together, but decided not a second later that the question was harmless.

"Five years, I think. I started when I was around your age." Madara inwardly wondered how the girl became a shinobi – if she was even one, she could be lying for all he knew – he had never seen a female shinobi before.

"And you don't get sick of it?"

"Of course I am," Madara admitted. Philosophical discussion was acceptable, he decided. "All of this pointless killing and destruction, the slaughter of countless children..." Madara frowned in disgust. "They always target children first – to lower the clan's morale, making sure they never reach adulthood."

"But that's just what it means to be a shinobi. Death is always knocking at our door. From what I can tell, the only way we can avoid that is to be honest and upfront with the other side, form an alliance with them. Perhaps even, I don't know, live together – coexist in the same place, instead of being so damn suspicious with each other." Madara propelled the rock. It embedded itself on the tree trunk ahead of him with a satisfying thud.

"But that's just a wishful thinking – a _crazy_ and _stupid_ wishful thinking. We're all too proud to allow ourselves to be that vulnerable. I mean, who knows, perhaps the Senju doesn't hate my clan as much as we think. Perhaps peace isn't just a childish dream. Perhaps it's more than just my imagination. I don't know if everlasting peace is something feasible, but every day… Every day I hope that someone will find a way to make it come true."

The girl smiled. Her gaze faraway. "That will be nice, won't it? Not having to constantly worry about your life, being assured that your loved ones are not in danger. Not having to distrust anyone you meet…"

"Not having to withhold your last name," Madara added.

"Exactly! Killing your own friend just because both of your clan opposes each other is truly messed up. I mean, it's not like you ask to be born, right? We've never been given any choice if we'd like to be born rich or poor, if we'd like to be born in a ninja clan or as a regular civilian, if we'd like to be a boy or a girl."

The girl shifted, turning to face him. "Take you for an example. You're just a boy, and you're born in this clan who just happen to _loathe_ this other clan. So you become a shinobi, because of your father's demand I suppose, but do you even know what you're fighting for?"

"I fight for my brother," Madara answered instinctively. "And for my family," he added as an afterthought.

The girl held up her hand. "No, let me rephrase that. From what I understand, the Senju and the Uchiha both originated from the same ancestor–"

"No we don't!" Madara sputtered.

"Yes you are. Then shit happened, and the ancestor's sons fought. It was over something petty, but since humans are emotional and easily manipulated moron–"

"You're a human too, moron," Madara interjected.

"For the sake of the argument, let's pretend I'm a God. Now shut your trap, mortal."

Madara raised his hands in mock surrender.

"As I said earlier, humans are emotional and easily manipulated _morons_." Cued, pointy glare at him. He flipped her off. "Blinded by hatred and the need for revenge, what started as something petty turned into a full-blown war between both descendants. You kill some of them, then they retaliate and kill some of you, and then the cycle goes on and on until both clans are extinct. You said it yourself. This whole thing is _pointless_, and I know for a fact that you don't even know why both sides are even fighting in the first place – why you're fighting your own _family_ in the first place." The girl paused and let her words sunk in.

"So young man, let me ask you once again." The girl leaned forward. "What are you fighting for?"

His silence answered it all.

"Nothing," the girl answered in his stead. "You fight for nothing. You train for nothing. You sweat and bleed for nothing. You suffer and weep for nothing. You kill and taint your hands with blood for _nothing_."

Madara gritted his teeth. The girl had no right to say that. They barely knew each other. Even if they did, she still would not have any right to say anything like that. Yes, Madara was grateful that she saved his clansmen, but that did not mean that she could behave and talk trash to him – she was the one who harmed them in the first place.

And it was not like he had much choice. He was born to be a shinobi, one of the best that his clan could offer. Sparing his enemies would not automatically make them spare his own clansmen. It did not work like that. So what if his battles were pointless? So what if he was very, very, _very_, distantly related to those Senju bastards? It did not mean a thing now, it _never_ meant a thing. Madara simply wanted his clan to be safe, and he would do anything to make sure of it. If the girl only came to criticize him, then she could go f–

"And that's why your dream of peace is not stupid."

_What? _Madara was not sure if he heard it right.

The girl gave him a lopsided grin, her dimples showing. "You acknowledge that there's something wrong with this world – with this system – and despite your hatred towards your enemy, you know that fighting will solve nothing, you're willing to give an alliance a chance. You entertain this ridiculously hopeless idea, and that takes _guts_."

_What?_

The girl's smile dimmed, her gaze turning distant again. "I myself don't think that a true and everlasting peace is possible. Man seeks peace, yet at the same time yearning for war. Even if we somehow manage to achieve peace, the selfish desire of wanting to maintain peace will cause wars, and then hatred will be born to protect love – and we have not even included human greed in the equation here."

She gazed sadly at him. "Nothing is ever enough. Someone will always wish for something more, and then someone else is going to get hurt in the process. Then there'll be pain, war, and suffering all over again."

"Honestly I want peace, I really do. And despite what everyone might've said, I know that deep down they want it too. They just don't want to be disappointed. They have lived with so much violence in their life that peace becomes something that seems so far-fetched. But that's why you – a dreamer – are here." The girl pressed the tip of her finger against his chest, the action left him with a strange feeling. "To change our mind, to convince us pessimists that peace isn't just a fool's dream, to show us killers that there's another way to live – that we too, deserve happiness. To show _me_, that you are not just another emotional and easily manipulated moron that can't even think for himself."

Madara stared blankly at the girl, his mouth slightly agape at the sudden turn their conversation had taken.

"I-I…"

The girl only smiled kindly, paying no heed to his embarrassing inability to form a coherent answer. "And whatever happens, please don't give up on us, okay?"

Madara was confused. He felt the conversation went over his head. Although what the girl had said was simple and straightforward, he felt as if her words were conveying something different – something deeper, something that he was missing on, something that meant so much _more_ than just not giving up on his ridiculous dream. _But what?_

Madara met the girl's eyes and whispered, "Okay…"

That was what she wanted to hear, right?

Instead of the smile that he was expecting, the girl's expression hardened. A brief tremor ran through her hand before she forced it to disappear. The girl retracted her hand, and suddenly Madara felt emptiness settled within the small spot where they were briefly connected, as if she had ripped a part of him. A dull ache settled on his sternum, and Madara felt his heartbeat quicken.

_Ba-dumb, ba-dumb, ba-dumb._

The girl moved to stand up.

Madara felt his throat clog up, suddenly it was very difficult to breathe.

_Ba-dumb, ba-dumb, ba-dumb._

When their eyes met again, Madara almost flinched.

The girl forced a smile, the muscles in her neck visibly tensing up. "It's really nice to meet you and all… but I," she clenched her hands so hard that her knuckles turned white, "I got to go," she finished lamely.

And then she was gone.

Madara drew desperate short breaths, filling his lungs with the much needed air. He closed his eyes and pressed his hand against his chest, feeling his heart thundering against his rib cage.

_What was that?_

* * *

"Where the hell were you?!" an Akimichi, whose name the clone did not even bother to remember, hissed.

"I was taking a shit, if you must know," it answered matter-of-factly.

The clone actually had just finished its patrol round in the west border, as per Shikadai's order. However, judging from the way that the Akimichi had behaved towards it in the short time that they had become acquaintances, explaining what it had done for the past few hours still would not stop Akimichi from belittling it anyway, so why bother?

Akimichi sneered in disgust. "Why are you even here, you trash? If you can't even behave to be anything remotely better than useless, you can at least save everyone's trouble by staying at home and playing with your dresses instead."

The clone cleaned its ear with its small finger, pretending as if it did not hear anything. "You say something?"

Akimichi growled. His eyes narrowed into a slit. "Why, you little–"

"Be quiet, both of two," Shikadai's vassal chided as the teen soundlessly approached them.

The boy was tall, garbed in dark-colored attire which complemented his sharp features. One of his hands rested on the hilt of the katana in his waist whilst the other hovered over the weapon pouch strapped on his pants. His shoulders were relaxed, but his senses were alert, always ready to face and neutralize any oncoming threat. His eyes looked troubled though, which made the clone worry.

"Is there something wrong?"

The boy smiled thinly. "Shikadai-sama requests your presence, Nara-san."

The clone nodded its head, ignoring Akimichi's exclamation about how their team leader was going to chew it out for its unpleasant attitude and misconduct.

It flickered away and appeared in front of their guard post. It walked to the door and rapped its knuckle against the door with a specific pattern. The door opened a few seconds later.

"Shikadai-sama," it greeted.

The taller boy inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Shikari-san, do come in."

The clone ushered inside whilst the preteen locked the door behind him and gestured for the clone to follow him. The clan heir appeared to be somewhat distressed, but the negative emotion fled his eyes just as quickly as it appeared, hidden beneath layers upon layers of indifferent masks the boy adorned.

The clone followed the boy as he walked down the stairs into the basement, where the cells were located, and its demeanor turned serious. "Who is it?"

"You'll see," the boy answered vaguely.

Shikadai led the girl into the first cell near the stair; the lantern in his hand barely illuminated the feature of the prisoner. He gestured for the girl to come closer, "I want you to identify her."

The clone did as it was asked. It crouched down and peered into the darkness, trying to discern the prisoner's feature.

"Delinquent…?"

_Oh hell no… is that...?_

There was only one person who ever called Boss that – a person who was not even supposed to exist anymore, and that person was…

"Hotaru?" it blurted.

It narrowed its eyes, adjusting them to the darkness. The face was slimmer and gaunt, pale from the lack of sunshine. But those sharp eyes and high cheekbones were unmistakably hers, so did the haughty smile that adorned her lips. It was bitch-sensei, alright.

The clone gulped.

Boss would be _pissed_.


	7. Murderers' Midnight Escapades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So am I, dear, so am I. So much, that I feel like emptying my stomach if I spend one more second looking at your face."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_"But I didn't understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair."_

_ **Haruki Murakami** _

* * *

"How are you, girl?"

Hotaru tilted her head, looking perfectly at ease with the chain that adorned her wrists and ankles. She seemed quite spirited for someone who was supposed to be dead for more than two years, ghastly appearance and all.

To answer Hotaru's question, Shikamaru definitely was not fine. He had woken up far too early in the morning. He had gone to the barrack, had been ogled like a circus exhibition, and had gotten into a fight with overeager punks who did not know how to yield. Even when he had planned to have a break, he had ended up investigating why his clone had gone AWOL to the Uchiha domain. Per his non-existent luck, Shikamaru, naturally, had gone sidetracked and instead had gone to save a mini-warmonger who had gotten himself in a sticky situation.

It did not get any better after that.

Shikamaru had met an Uchiha minion. The boy seemed somewhat familiar, but Shikamaru could not quite put his finger on it. It was not until that they sat side by side that Shikamaru truly observed him – from the shape of his dark eyes, his thin brows, his seemingly ever-present scowl, to the way he passionately spoke about his belief – and Shikamaru was (rightfully) horrified to find out that the boy was unmistakably Uchiha Madara.

He tried to deny his own deduction, he even tried to get a rise out of him so that he could feel the brief spike of his chakra. And boy, Shikamaru did feel it. It was unmistakably the suffocating and foul chakra that only one Uchiha Madara possessed.

Shikamaru then acted on impulse. Mimicking the skill that he learned from the genin who participated in the Chūnin Exam he proctored, he almost blocked one of the pressure points in the boy's heart. It was going to be a quick process, in theory the boy would only experience a brief chest pain before he descended into cardiac arrest.

However, before Shikamaru could finish the deed, the logical side of him quickly took over and reminded him that he could not dispose of the boy without facing the adverse consequences. Madara _was_ one of Konoha's founding fathers. The village might never be formed if the boy did not reach adulthood, and consequently so did the other four Great Shinobi Villages. Sure, Black Zetsu's plan to revive Kaguya would be postponed; however, not only that the Warring States Period might never end – which was simply unacceptable – any knowledge and variables that he could control might no longer be valid.

Shikamaru quickly undid what would have become his greatest headache and retracted his hand. The boy would feel some unpleasant side effects, but he would survive. That was more than what could be said about the thousands of people that would suffer should he convert into the dark side. Shikamaru quickly made a tactical retreat after bidding the boy an awkward goodbye, inwardly hoping that he would not realize what had happened, however unlikely it was.

Now, sitting here in front of his thought-to-be-dead-bane-of-existence that was never actually deceased in the first place, being incredibly sleep deprived whilst nursing one hell of a migraine after receiving sudden influx of memories from his clone, Shikamaru knew that he was making a right decision by allowing the boy to live. Even the smallest stone made a ripple in the water, even the simplest action could cause unforeseen consequences. He would not gamble and ruin the future for the sake of petty revenge. He could wait, could bid his time until the moment was right. He would be damned if he let his second chance go to waste.

Returning his attention to the woman before him, Shikamaru forced a smile, his words sugary sweet. "I am well, of course, especially now that my favorite teacher is here!" He jutted his bottom lip, attempting to look cute though his eyes were dead. "I miss you, sensei."

Shikadai coughed in the background, unsubtly reminding him why he was speaking with the woman in the first place.

Hotaru, being the troublesome woman that she was, had refused to talk to anyone but him. Perhaps she thought he would not be able to coax anything out of her, or perhaps she simply wanted him to become her verbal punching bag, who knew. Shikadai himself seemed inclined to keep the woman's reappearance quiet, at least until they had acquired more information, since he had not called for any backup or report back to his superior.

Hotaru giggled, her eyes bright with contempt. "So am I, dear, so am I – so much that I feel like emptying my stomach if I spend one more second looking at your face."

"Trust me. The sentiment is mutual," Shikamaru assured with a grin. "Though I do have to wonder, where have you been all of this time? Did you run away?" Hotaru looked rather amused. It was a no then. "Fake your death?" A flicker of surprise crossed her face. It appeared she was not aware of her deceased status. "Were you captured?"

Her eyes shifted then, there was a brief crack on her demeanor. Her posture subconsciously turned defensive before she could conceal her reaction. Shikamaru waited for her denial.

"Yes I was," Hotaru stated instead with a thin smile.

Shikamaru blinked, a bit surprised, but not entirely perplexed by her honesty. It was a sign of good behavior after all, a sign that she was willing to cooperate.

"By whom?"

Hotaru avoided his eyes, opting to examine her uneven nails instead – eyeing them with distaste. "Oh you know, those red-eyed bastards."

Shikamaru felt his eyebrows rise. Was that why his clone had gone to the Uchiha territory, because it had seen Hotaru escape?

"Uchiha?" Shikadai interjected, moving to stand beside Shikamaru. "We don't have any business with them. Why would they suddenly enter our border and risk the status quo just to capture you?"

"Do you really?" Hotaru gave them a half-smile. "I clearly remember them using the so-called Yamanaka's secret technique to make an army of sleeper agents."

Shikamaru leaned closer, intrigued.

"How do we know that _you_ aren't a sleeper agent?" Shikadai pointed out. "You haven't exactly explained how you arrived at our border, have you? Even if we somehow believe you, how can you recognize the technique when you yourself are a civilian?"

"Because it is rightfully mine," Hotaru replied matter-of-factly, as if it explained everything. "It's not my fault that everyone is too dimwitted to remember it."

"You're delusional," Shikadai rebutted.

"And you, my dear, are an unwanted child."

"You–"

"Shikadai-sama," Shikamaru interrupted calmly, "a moment, please?"

Shikadai pursed his lips in disagreement, but led him into the other side of the dungeon nevertheless. The boy then motioned him to talk.

Shikamaru lowered his voice. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, _sir_, but you shouldn't antagonize her. I know that she can be quite troublesome, but we can't afford her acting mute again."

"I know, I apologize for that." Shikadai massaged the bridge of his nose. "However, this new… issue... she has roused is very unsettling. I know that this could be just a rather elaborate attempt to cause dissection in our ranks, but I can't exactly ignore the possibility that there might be a traitor in our people. It's certainly not impossible."

Shikadai briefly glanced at his prisoner, she stared back at him with that disconcerting smile of hers.

The woman seemed to be willing to confide in the girl, obviously because Shikari was young and lacked the necessary training and experience as an interrogator. It was a risky gamble to let the girl question the prisoner in the first place (or a complete waste of time), since brawling and delving into the intricate maze that was the human mind was a completely different matter. Not that he was an ideal choice either, since he had never _actually interrogated_ someone before. But Shikadai supposed it would not hurt to try. They still had an hour or two before their shift was over. After that, he could just deliver the woman straight to sir – err… father – and then she would no longer be his problem.

"You know what, you go talk to her," Shikadai blurted out. "She will feel safer confiding in you anyway."

Shikari could interrogate the woman whilst he took a short nap upstairs. It would not make that much difference anyway, since the two of them were equally incompetent at interrogation. Besides, what was the use of underlings if he had to do all the work himself?

Shikadai slid his hand into his weapon pouch and fetched a kunai. He took the girl's hand and wrapped her fingers around the handle, the soft skin was a stark contrast against his calloused one. "You know what to do should she misbehave, don't you?"

If the worst came to the worst – perhaps the girl got herself killed; perhaps the prisoner somehow, managed to free herself – Shikadai would be waiting for her upstairs. The only way for her to escape was to get through him first.

The girl nodded. "Yes sir."

"Good girl," he awkwardly patted her head like one would to an obedient child. That was how one was supposed to give a child encouragement, right? "I'll return in an hour."

Shikamaru waited until the boy was no longer within the hearing range before he returned his attention to his prisoner. The woman was looking at him with a sly smirk plastered on her face.

"What?" He asked flatly.

"Nothing." Hotaru smiled mischievously.

"Right," Shikamaru muttered dryly.

He settled comfortably on his chair and with the flick of his hand, impaled the knife into the wooden table – close enough to Hotaru's chained hands, but still beyond her fingers' reach – giving her a promise of freedom should she provide him with something good.

"Can we talk now?" Shikamaru asked bluntly. "Before we start, I will remind you that it really is within _your_ best interest to tell me everything, as my supervisor most likely will let you go." It was unlikely, but he would wager on it anyway. "But if not, some Yamanaka will definitely take my place and screw with your mind until your brain is nothing more than a jelly – and I can assure you, then you _will_ truly be really dead."

"Of course, of course." Hotaru smirked, entirely unperturbed by his words. "Where do you want me to begin?"

Shikamaru rested his chin on his palm. "Why don't you start with how you escape your jailer?"

* * *

Cold winds blew on his face, brushing the longer strands of his hair against his cheek. Dark clouds were starting to gather in the sky, obscuring the moon. Flashes of lightning appeared in the distance, their bright colors illuminated the atmosphere. It was going to rain soon,

But still, his little brother had not come home.

He shifted his weight to his right foot, crunching the dried leaves beneath it. He tightened the white fur on his shoulders and rubbed his palms together, a puff of cold air escaped his lips.

He had been standing in front of the gate for what felt like hours, patiently waiting for his brother to return. Others would have given up already. It would not have been illogical after all, it had been too long since his team supposed ETA. But not him. He knew that his brother was still out there, somewhere, on his way home. He could still feel him. His chakra signature was dim, probably low on chakra, but he was alive and well. Tobirama was sure of it.

Tobirama crouched on the ground and pressed his finger against the soil. His brother's chakra was still somewhere on the eastern side of their stronghold, unmoving from its spot. There were no other chakra signatures near him, not even that of their clansmen. He was completely alone.

Tobirama estimated that his brother was somewhere near the creek which Hashirama usually visited whenever he felt like moping and brooding on a particularly bad day. It was possible that Itama needed some alone time, especially since everyone on his team likely had fallen in battle. Everyone had their own coping mechanism after all, thus Tobirama had to respect the boy's privacy if he chose to grief in solitude. However, more than a solid hour had already passed and Itama still showed no sign of coming home. He probably had not eaten anything, Tobirama mused. He could be shivering, alone and lost on his own thoughts. His grief would definitely affect his performance and he would be unaware if hostile parties approached him.

Tobirama was not exactly sure when he had decided that he had done enough waiting and decided to fetch the boy himself. By the time he registered what he was doing, he had already pumped his feet with chakra and leaped into the trees. A thin layer of chakra had already coated his skin and clothes, instantly repelling droplets of water that managed to sneak through the tree canopies.

Once he arrived at the creek, instead of the sight of his brother lying on the pool of his own blown, or the sight of the boy slowly drowning and suffocating to death and other multitudes of terrible scenarios that his mind had conjured, what greeted him instead was the sight of his brother fervently scrubbing his skin and shirt like his life depended on it. Once a while he would sniff his arms, grimacing at the smell, and started scrubbing again.

Now, Tobirama always prided himself as being the most mature and level-headed out of his brothers. Growing up as a shinobi, he had faced, endured, and triumphed various hardships and losses. As far as he knew, nothing could really faze him anymore. However, to know that he waited and worried sick for hours simply because the boy had decided to have an impromptu bath in the middle of the night…

Tobirama's hand moved in its own accord as it lashed out on the tree on his right, cleaving the trunk into a half, startling his brother who instinctively scurried for his weapons and armor as it plummeted straight into the middle of the creek.

Itama took a double take at him – his jaw hung agape when he realized that the 'hostile party' was actually his own brother – and started hollering. "Are you kidding me?! I almost got a heart attack!"

Tobirama crossed his arms and snarled back. "Isn't that supposed to be my line? What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be home hours ago!"

Itama at least had the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry. You must have been worried."

"No, I don't," Tobirama fumed.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother," Itama dismissed his claim. "Anyway, long story short, I got the map, but my team was ambushed on our way out. They all died." Itama clenched his fists, his bloodshot eyes were burning with fury. "I would have died too if not for that boy…"

"Who is he? Did you see his clan's insignia? What's his level of threat?" Tobirama asked. He knew better than to ask about the boy's feelings and brought forth unwanted memories. What Itama needed was a distraction, not condolence or pity. A shinobi did not need to be coddled.

"He didn't tell me his name. I didn't see any clan insignia on him either, but I'm pretty sure that he wore a standard clan issue armor. He could have stolen it though, so who knows," Itama trailed off, feeling unsure himself. "I'm not exactly sure just how strong he really is, but he's certainly crafty. He easily took down five adult Uchiha with only using needles and flash bombs."

"That's worrying. He might become a threat to us should we ever stand on opposite sides," Tobirama noted. But how come they never heard of him? "Did he mention anything about his allegiance, about why he–" Tobirama paused when a peculiar odor entered his nostrils. His nose scrunched up in disgust. "Itama, do you smell that?"

Itama grimaced. "That's actually what I want to talk about with you."

Tobirama beckoned his brother. "Go on then."

"Do you remember what you said about not startling other shinobi?" Tobirama narrowed his eyes, feeling suspicious, but nodded his head nonetheless. Itama continued his ramble. "Well, once he stopped his assault, I kind of – you know, moved – 'cause let me tell you, those needles _hurt_ like hell. He heard me, but I think he mistook me for one of the Uchiha, so he kind of threw a skunk–"

"Wait a second, is that why you're here?" Tobirama asked incredulously. "Because a skunk sprayed you?"

Itama averted his head away, his cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. "Yeah…"

Tobirama sighed heavily. "You're unbelievable."

Was a penchant of being ridiculous something that ran in the family? He started to wonder if he was, in fact, an adopted child. It seemed he was the only one who was blessed with some semblance of sanity.

"Look, I know that it sounds stupid, but that kind of things do happen, okay?!" Itama protested. "And I can't exactly just waltz home, can I?! The whole barrack would have stunk like crazy the very second I step in it," Itama grumbled.

Tobirama resisted the urge to rub his forehead in exasperation.

"What happened next?" Tobirama inquired softly, already dreading whatever it was that would come out of his brother's mouth.

"Like I said, I was sprayed by a skunk. The boy said that I could remove the stench with tomato, which you know I am allergic to. But he said that his employer, the one who made him scout the Uchiha's territory, is willing to make an instant remedy for a price."

"Which is?"

Itama rubbed the back of his neck. "A map."

"A map," Tobirama murmured, tasting the curious method of payment on his tongue.

The white-haired boy flickered his gaze to his brother. The boy fidgeted under his blank stare. His fingers fiddled restlessly with the hem of his trousers. Itama only did that whenever he was feeling–

"Wait…" Tobirama backtracked. "You're not seriously considering handing over _that_ map to him, do you?"

Itama only winced, not bothering to deny his accusation.

"Are you out of your mind?! Even if we don't need it to free our clansmen from that godforsaken prison, six good men still lost their lives today just so that we can acquire it. Trust me, that drug of his does not worth their sacrifices."

"I know that! But think about it for a second," Itama pleaded. "Do you remember what you lectured me the other day, about using others for your own gain?"

"What about it?" Tobirama asked tersely.

"Well, I've given a lot of thoughts about it and I was thinking that instead of attacking the prison ourselves, why don't we just let others do it for us? 'Cause let me tell you, there're _tons_ of chakra in there – like, a _lot_ – so much that even a non-sensor like me can feel it. It isn't just the Senju who is being locked in there, there are other people too. Their families must have been worried sick looking for them. They'll be eager to free their people if given the chance. The Uchiha won't stand a chance if they're attacked from all sides."

"Shit…" Tobirama muttered under his breath. "That's actually a really great idea," he admitted. "No one will believe us if we tell them that we are willing to share the layout of our archenemy's stronghold with them. They will immediately assume that we are only leading them to their deaths, which is not entirely false. However, if it is sold to them by a third party, they will not dismiss it right away. Whatever decision they make will be entirely up to them. Supposing anything went wrong, the blame could and would not be placed on us. Either way, whether they succeed in their endeavors or not, our clan will be the one who is affected the least."

"Err… that's not exactly what I have in mind," Itama chimed. "I'm actually thinking about giving the map away so that his employer can circulate it around."

"That isn't how mercenaries work, Itama."

"We don't even know if they are mercenaries," Itama countered. "Maybe his employer collects maps for fun, just like how anija likes to collect plants. Besides… even if they _are_ mercenaries, I'm not really sure that they'll be willing to sell the map." Itama scratched the back of his neck.

"And that's because…" Tobirama trailed off.

"Well…" Itama began. "You know how heavily guarded that place is, right? My team barely found any opening to infiltrate it and even then we only had a very limited time to find its layout – if it's even documented in the first place. Long story short, we were running out of time. We were about to go home empty-handed when we passed by this woman's cell. She begged me to free her – she looked really sad and I couldn't help myself – so I did. At first Akio-san was unwilling to bring her with us, but the woman said that she could give us the map of the part of the prison that she had visited. She drew us the map and we escaped just in time. But then we got separated halfway and the rest is history."

"So the map is useless," Tobirama deadpanned.

"It's legit!" Itama proclaimed. "She really knows what she's doing."

"Uh-uh."

"I mean it! Just see it for yourself." Itama rummaged through his weapon pouch and fished a scroll. "Here." Itama pulled his arm back and threw the rolled parchment across the creek.

Tobirama deftly caught the small nondescript scroll, opting to dangle it on the tip of his finger with a chakra string once he registered the unpleasant scent that accompanied it. He would take a look at it first thing in the morning. Hopefully its smell would have dissipated a bit by then.

"Just so that you know, I don't expect much out of it. Even it's exterior already smells like disappointment."

"You're so mean." Itama sulked.

"I don't care," Tobirama declared. "Quickly dry yourself and return home. I'll try to find some old clothes and sleeping bags for you to use. You're not allowed to set a foot inside the compound before you get that nasty smell off of you."

"Oh, come on!"

* * *

"…six men are dead, four are in a critical condition, twelve are injured, and three are permanently incapacitated. Six men still have not returned, including your son. Madara-sama is scheduled to patrol in the east border tonight. It is very likely that he is currently aiding our trackers to pursue the Senju–"

"What about the prison?" Tajima interjected, his tone subdued from the aftermath of the battle. "Are there any missing captives?"

"None of the prisoners are missing, despite the lack of guards. Your strategy is a success, sir. It appears the infiltrators have entered an entirely different place – your decoy prison."

"We have our ally to thank for that," Tajima stated, giving credit where it was due. "Are any of the prison guards injured?"

"No, sir. The security–"

Knocking sounds resounded from the door.

"–in the decoy prison has been doubled as you ordered. The infiltrators did not stand a chance against them."

"That is good to hear," the clan head muttered under his breath. "You may return now, Yashiro. Rest well, we will have a long day ahead of us. Bring me an update from the infirmary tomorrow," Tajima ordered. "Please send that person in on your way out."

"Yes, sir." Yashiro bowed respectfully and exited the room.

Madara poked his head in not a second later. His eyes immediately zoomed into the heavy bandage that covered one side of his father's face. Madara forced himself not to stare.

"You are _late_," Tajima scolded. "We've been attacked, in case you do not know. They had an incessant tree-making freak with them."

Madara strode inside. "I've heard about it, not about the freak part though." He made a face. "I'm sure you handle it just fine." He held his palms up when his father narrowed his visible eye in warning. Right . . . a sore topic then. "For the record, I was taking a detour to check on our mutual friends _after_ dragging five unconscious men to the infirmary. I've also taken care of your minions–"

"Stop talking in riddles, boy. You're terrible in it," Tajima grouched. "They," he gestured to his hidden personal guards, "know about my side project. Speak plainly and spare both of us the embarrassment."

"Why don't you just say so…?" Madara grumbled. "As I have said before, I've taken care of the guards, no one shall remember a thing about any unusual things they saw in there. But… one woman is missing – subject number 38, if I am not wrong – the one who was locked in solitary confinement."

"The one who resists our influence, isn't it?"

Madara nodded. "Correct. The chakra residue from the cell suggests that it was the Senju who broke her out."

_Why her?_ Tajima inwardly wondered. The woman's chakra did not feel like a Senju, thus she could not possibly be one of them. It was possible that she was their spy, perhaps a member of one of their allies. However, that woman only showed her rebellious attitude recently, after the administration of the technique. His ally had explicitly stated that it was not perfect, thus her behavior could very well be caused by a technical failure. It still did not explain why the Senju freed her though…

"Assemble a task force," Tajima ordered his bodyguards, "we need to relocate the subjects–"

"That won't be necessary," Madara interrupted, already knowing what the man was thinking. "The woman is not with them, so the others won't be compromised. Six out of the seven infiltrators are dead and the one who manage to escape is a mere boy, she was not with him. You don't need to hunt her down either, I've…" _however unintentional it was_, he thought, "I've taken care of it."

"How?" his father asked.

Madara was not sure how he should explain it, since it involved touching what was considered to be a very sensitive issue for both of them. They never broach the subject, let alone openly discussing it.

He straightened himself and decided to just be done with it.

"Remember how big brother killed himself?"

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Shikamaru surmised. "You drew them the map – which accuracy is logically questionable – and they still agreed to bring you with them? Even if they were very desperate, the hassle from bringing a civilian with them clearly outweighs that map's worth. How come they didn't see you as a liability – or better yet, just kill you once have the map?"

He definitely would have done the latter.

"Because _I _am not a liability," Hotaru replied shortly, seemingly certain that it was the reason why she was still breathing. "They must have known, at the very least, the basic layout of that place to be able to infiltrate it. Perhaps my map fits in." she shrugged.

"But how?" Shikamaru pressed in. "You said you were captured. Didn't they lock you up?"

"No," Hotaru shook her head, "they let us roam free, at least in our prison level. Loath am to admit it, that bastard Tajima really has an ingenious method to turn all of those people into his dogs."

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Hotaru took a deep breath and started explaining. "The women he caught were at the bottom of the social hierarchy. They were slaves, prostitutes, war orphans, and street urchins. He gives them food and shelter, showers them with kindness. He gives them hope and purpose, makes them believe that they are a part of something bigger. In return, they give him their loyalty – their utter devotion. Loyal to him and him only. It doesn't even matter that they are isolated inside this giant prison. He is _God_ in their eyes. Their lives belong solely to him and nothing, _nothing_, can convince them otherwise."

Brainwashing aside, Shikamaru thought, it was clever of the man to use women for his cause. They were not seen as threats, at least not in the current trend of warfare with all-male army. They could easily infiltrate many places and integrate themselves into new societies without being suspected by noisy busybodies. With the right training they could work not only as spies, but also directly engage in war – from posing as male soldiers, to seducing secrets out of politicians and generals, to operating as couriers and diplomats – and turn the tide of war.

He definitely had to keep an eye on this Tajima person.

"How did you break free then? Did they manage to affect you in the first place?" The knowledge would be invaluable should he ever encounter those spies in the future.

"They did." Hotaru pressed her lips together, looking genuinely uncomfortable and disturbed by the fact. "I don't know why, but I had no recollection of anything when I woke up. I didn't know my name, my age, where I came from – anything that might explain who I was. I was gullible, foolishly trusting the people who took me in. Then that bastard moved into the next step of his plan and started burying those needles into our brains, sealing our memories of being sleeper agents."

"Fortunately for me, somehow by unexpected sheer luck, my old memories returned as well when he canceled the technique. And I knew, I _knew_ at that very second that it was my family technique. The ones who are supposed to know it are only the Yamanaka and I, the price for my _assimilation_," Hotaru spat out the word, "into the clan. Imagine my surprise when I find it on someone else's possession."

Shikamaru recognized that particular technique. It was the Memory-Concealing Manipulative Sand Technique, also known as the Sand Brainwash Technique. It was the technique which Sasori would have used in the future to plant his spies and cause havoc in Elemental Nation. He did not know of its precise origin, but he was very certain that the Yamanaka never possessed it in his own timeline. Sasori would not be able to plant his spies in Konoha otherwise.

Exactly what kind of disaster had his existence caused?

"So you're the Land of the Wind's gal, huh?" He asked instead – trying to distract his mind from that line of thought – nodding to Hotaru's now sandy-brown hair. The strands used to be much darker two years ago, not matching their lighter roots. "How on earth did you end up in the Fire Country of all places?"

"Well… the Uchiha slaughtered my clan for starter," Hotaru replied blasély, as if she was talking about the weather instead of a genocide. "I escaped in time and literally crawled my way to the Land of Rivers. I met your grandfather and uncles there. The old coot tended my wounds and brought me here. Then life went on, yada, yada, and now I am here."

"Is that how you met my mother?" Shikamaru asked curiously. "What exactly do you see in her that makes you so infatuated?"

"Aren't you supposed to question me instead of gossiping?"

"I'm bored," Shikamaru admitted. "Aren't you?"

Hotaru considered his question. She nodded her head when she did not find any hidden motive behind it.

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of time for interrogation later," he quickly assured her when he saw her pinched expression. "There's nothing wrong with having a normal conversation, is there? After everything you've been through, talking with familiar faces surely helps."

"Fine." Hotaru sighed in resignation, truthfully not really opposing the idea. "For your information, I don't need therapy, especially not from the likes of _you_."

"Whatever you say, sensei."

Hotaru ignored the girl's response, opting to formulate the right words to answer the girl's inquiry. She was not sure why she was willing to answer it in the first place. Perhaps for the sake of old times, perhaps out of desperation, or perhaps because the girl looked like the exact replica of her mother and Hotaru had never been able to say no to Etsuko.

Hotaru averted her eyes upward, peering into the darkness of the ceiling, lost in a memory.

"Your mother, Etsuko, is a very complex individual," she began. "To be honest, I don't remember what exactly it is that made me fall for her. Perhaps her smile, her spirit, her courage, who knows." She shrugged. "But being with her makes me feel safe, happy, and complete. At least she used to."

"Used to?"

"Correct. Having no recollection of anything for almost two years does have its merits after all. It gives me a new perspective, a perspective which I used to evaluate my life and sort my thoughts together once I regained my memories back. It took me a while to come to terms with it, but I've realized… I realize that I was never _in_ love with your mother."

Hotaru paused, contemplating whether she should continue or not. She did not know Nara very well and everything she said could very well be used against her. On the other hand, talking about it did help. She could sort through her feelings and remove this heavy weight off of her chest. She owed herself that, at the very least.

"My feelings for her started with that of a respect, respect that she accepted me – an outsider – as if I was her own family. It then grew into friendship, just the two of us against the world. We used to secretly give people nicknames so that only we knew who we were talking about. We could have a whole conversation with just one look – there was no need for explanation, we always knew what the other was thinking. We shared every little detail about every little thing. I could say a total nonsense and Etsuko would respect it anyway, we never got bored with each other's blabber. She was my best friend, and I was hers."

"But then I grew older, not really wiser though," Hotaru chuckled bitterly, "and I became obsessed with the idea of avenging my family. I was hell-bent on joining the ninja force. I trained on my own, day and night, even though everyone told me off. Etsuko, of course, tried to help me in her own way. She begged her old man to help me and he did, he pulled some strings to get me in."

"My training… well, it went badly. Something happened and I was dishonorably discharged. So I returned home. Although I was disheartened, I knew that my best friend would always be there to cheer me up. I didn't know that at the time Etsuko was dealing with her own issue, since we weren't allowed to have contact with the outside world. She was already of age then, and her family kept on pressuring her to get married. Etsuko, of course, didn't take it too well when I started venting my problem on her. That day we had the biggest fight of our life. We said unforgivable things to each other, but we were too stubborn and prideful to apologize. From then on we just..." Hotaru shrugged, "drifted apart."

"I became even more desperate then. I wanted my best friend back but things just kept on getting on my way. The next thing I knew, I had degraded my genuine love for my friend into infatuation. What was supposed to be pure and full of trust turned into obsession and jealousy. What was supposed to be generous turned into something possessive. What was supposed to be real and sincere turned into pathetic delusion and lies and I–" Hotaru looked down on her trembling hands, "I _hate_ myself."

Shikamaru wordlessly took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed it against the woman's cheeks. He averted his eyes away from her, giving her the privacy which he would certainly ask should their situation be reversed.

"Just let it out. It will make you feel better," he encouraged. "For what it's worth, I'm really sorry about what has happened." For a moment he was reminded of Chōji, his oldest friend who readily sacrificed his life for him. The pain he felt from his passing was indescribable. "Losing your best friend sucks. There's this hole in your chest, this bottomless emptiness that's never quite the same without them to fill it in."

Hotaru did not know whether she should laugh or choke. She had half-expected the girl to shower her with sympathy and inspirational quotes after her sob story in hopes of gaining her trust and all, but the girl's effort in it was too transparent – it was nothing short of pathetic. Hotaru shrugged the cheap piece of cotton along with its owner away from her face.

"You know," she mused derisively, "I think I finally understand why I despise you so much. Don't get me wrong, I don't understand what kind of shits that you have been through in your short existence. I certainly do not and will never pretend to care about your well-being, but you are a fucked up child, Nara."

"From the way you speak, to the way you smile, to the way you cry, to the way you lie, to the way you show sympathy and kindness – to the way you do _anything_ in your life – every single thing is always done with a specific intention in mind. Every single thing you do is fake – a mere lie. Forgive my curiosity, but do tell me," she leaned forward, her torso hunched over her shackled fists, "how can you stand yourself?"

"Honestly?" Shikamaru met the woman's sharp gaze head on. "I _can't_, I really can't. Words cannot describe just how much I loathe myself. But you know what? At least I don't go around and fucking hang myself–"

Hotaru slammed her fists on the table. "How dare you?! Do you honestly think that I would willingly do that to myself? Somebody was trying to kill me, you ignorant fool! I almost lost my _life_ – Kami, I lost my career and my future because of it – so mission accomplished! Someone like you will never understand it," Hotaru sneered, "you are sheltered and pampered your whole life–"

"Do I need to remind you that you and my mother tortured me on a daily basis?" Shikamaru pointed out with a smile. "That you terrify your class into submission and conduct unethical discipline methods? My, my… aren't you a hypocrite–"

Shikamaru rolled out of the way just as Hotaru kicked the table down, Shikadai's kunai glinted dangerously on her shaking hands. "Go on, say that again… I dare you."

He propped his elbows against the floor, his mouth snapped shut. His eyes were focused on a black marking that peeked from the corner of the woman's loose collar, a few inches beneath her left collarbone.

It started to glow amber.

"Don't ignore me!" Hotaru snarled.

Shikamaru remained quiet, his eyes were fixed on the black marking that had glowed brighter – eerily reminded him of explosive tags milliseconds before they went off. How curious, its glow seemed to be perfectly in sync with Hotaru's mounting ire.

His eyes flickered back and forth between the glowing mark and the woman's face, taking note of its intensity in accordance with the woman's breathing pattern and her most likely rapid heartbeat…

Shikamaru stared.

…oh shit.

Shikamaru immediately backed away. "Hotaru, I need you to calm down."

The woman grinned, baring her teeth at him like a predator would to its prey. "Why…? Are you scared of me, by any chance…? Where's your bark now, _Shi_-_ka_-_ri_? You were so sure of yourself earlier."

The mark, no – the seal, Shikamaru realized – was glowing even brighter.

"Please, calm down," he urged. "You're endangering yourself!"

"Endangering myself?" Hotaru mocked. "Oh honey, the only one who is in danger here is you."

Hotaru swung the blade with a roar.

The seal glowed red.

Shikamaru took cover.

…

For a moment everything was bright, then it was dark.

* * *

"Remember how big brother killed himself?"

Tajima flinched.

"I… I really don't want anyone else to do that to themselves," Madara quickly elaborated. "I know that it's not my place to decide and I know that it's probably selfish of me, but I've tried to create a seal that's supposed to prevent the branded individuals from taking their own lives. I lacked the necessary knowledge and skill to make what I wanted, I still now, so at the time I settled with something mediocre. It was quite promising, but I barely had any time for my side projects when I was appointed as the new clan heir, so I never tested it out."

"Few days ago, when I was visiting the camp, I saw that number 38 was showing erratic behavior. I thought to myself, _why not just test it on her_, so I did. If the seal works correctly, it will send an electric shock to her heart if it stops beating – it doesn't, actually. However, by the time I realized why, it's already too late for her."

Madara held his father's gaze. "The seal is faulty, I've made an error in its array. I think instead of sending electric pulse to her heart if it stops beating, it will send jolts of electricity whenever her heart rate is fast. Not only that, my chakra – which powers the seal – is also posing a problem. I didn't really take it into account then, but our chakra as an Uchiha – mine especially – is very potent and _that_, combined with a faulty seal is a recipe for disaster."

"Are you absolutely sure that the seal works in such a manner?" Tajima asked.

If it indeed worked with that principle, the woman would have died by now – either from electrocution or ventricular fibrillation-induced cardiac arrest. Running to the border alone would have elevated her heartbeat, and in turn caused the seal to repeatedly send electrical shock to her heart. Human body – especially a civilian – would not survive from such torture.

"It's either that..." Madara muttered, "or it explodes…" He made a vague motion with his hand, his father understood him anyway.

"Violently," Tajima finished.

Madara looked away, ashamed. "Yes."

A tentative hand settled on his shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "That's my boy."

Madara slowly smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anija (兄者/あにじゃ) = older brother.


	8. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With eyes void of emotion, Tobirama stared at the Senju crest that was etched on the coffin as it became smaller and smaller, and soon, diminutive from visible sight. It felt like only a day had passed since they had buried Kawarama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari

_"It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you've made, and there's this panic because you don't know yet the scale of disaster you've left yourself open to."_

_ **Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go** _

* * *

"_Strange, isn't it. . . . " Etsuko mused, drawing the thing's attention._

_Her gaze fell on their settlement' gate, where a woman was hugging and fussing over her son, a privilege which many mothers might not have. Despite her simple and practical garb, the gold-plated kanzashi on her hair clearly signified her higher status in the clan._

"_A soldier and a clan heir, yet treated like an infant that's about to keel over and die. I can't exactly fault his mother, she has had four miscarriages before she had him after all._

"_Well. . . ." Etsuko smirked, "I suppose miscarriage is a rather polite __term__. I heard she terminated them all because they were males. She has always wished for daughters – probably couldn't bear the thought of losing her sons in action. It won't be hard for a medic of Noriko-sama's stature, she certainly knows her way around herbs. Too bad her last prediction is wrong." Etsuko closed her eyes and sighed wistfully. "What I wouldn't do to be her. . . ."_

_It looked up curiously, her baby girl's wide eyes wordlessly conveyed its question._

"_What I wouldn't do to __send__ you into the battlefield, Shikari."_

* * *

Everyone had that moment, that brief moment of tranquility where they could simply relish in the sheer liberation that came from a well-deserved, however momentary, peace, after they had yet survived from another round of heartbreaking, suffocating, and headache-inducing checkmate from the insufferable thing called life. It was a moment to relax, to unwind, and to allow yourself to breathe and heal as your mind processed the fact that you were still alive, that pain and tragedy had not managed to break your spirit just yet.

But here was the thing about peace: it lulled you into a false sense of security. It made you believe that, for a moment, everything would be alright. It made you believe that it was okay to stop for a second and lowered your guards down because the danger had already passed _so_ _what could go wrong anyway?_

Well, here's the answer: everything.

Scattered on the floor was the residue of an altercation gone wrong: overturned table and chairs, splatters of blood, and a kunai left forgotten. Sprawled near the wall was a woman. Her pale lips hung open as her blank eyes stared unblinkingly into a faraway corner, the dark orbs were slowly sinking into her skull. Blood poured from the gaping hole that used to be her left ribs and upper sternum, staining her gray sash and brown-trimmed robes.

Light peeked through the open door of the guard post's upper level, where Nara Shikadai stood at the top of the stairs with a lantern on his hand. His eyes carefully swept over the carnage, where there lay a crumpled heap of what was left of the woman that Shikari was supposed to interrogate. He was grateful for the dim light, for it obscured the way his fair skin simultaneously turned paler and greener the more that he stared at her corpse.

Shikadai was done for. A witness to what might have been an important case had died whilst she was under his supervision. As if it was not already bad enough, instead of calling for his superior – either out of arrogance or simply to show his father that he was capable of making his own decision – he had sent an inexperienced girl to interrogate the woman just so that he could have something as frivolous as a power nap. Shikadai could practically see what would happen next. He was going to be dishonorably discharged and the traitors would never be found. The tiny ounce of respect that his father might have had for him now would pulverize and–

"Shikadai-kun."

His eyes snapped towards the girl. She was sitting crossed-legged at the foot of the stairs of the dark basement, her small, bloody, hands were neatly folded on her lap. Shikadai had half of a mind to reprimand her for addressing him with that demeaning suffix, as if she were talking to a child. However, the way that she sat there, the epitome of poise and calmness despite all the blood and innards that were splattered on her clothes and hair; the way that she looked at him – at his shaking hands and feet – with dark eyes that were so full of patience and understanding, the eyes of someone who had seen and been through all, truly made him feel like he was still that child that was clinging to his mother's arms and begging that he did notwant to go.

"Say. . . ." the girl mused, "If you were given a chance to stop being a shinobi, no strings attached, would you take it?"

Shikadai was about to open his mouth to answer when he stopped to think. "What's that got to do with anything?"

The girl's lips bloomed into a whimsical smile. "It could be nothing, it could be everything. Does it really matter?" Shikadai gave the girl a blank stare, for which she only replied with a pretty – _fake_, he thought – laugh that lighted up her features. "Humor me, please."

Shikadai felt a warning bell rang on his head and almost took a step back. There was something that was incredibly freaky about the girl, something that lurked and hid beneath her impeccable manners and pretty smiles. He could almost imagine that behind those soft, pink lips, stood rows of razor sharp teeth that were ready to rip his neck and tear his flesh should he provided her with a wrong answer. She was beautiful, but so unnaturally _wrong_.

Shikadai swallowed his saliva and gripped his lantern just a little tighter. He was being paranoid, he told himself, the woman's death was getting into him. He stared right into the girl's dark eyes and said, "Of course, I would," his voice was barely above a whisper, but the sheer bitterness in it surprised even him, "everyone in their right mind would.

"But doing so would be selfish," he quickly countered. "The largest contribution to our revenue comes from doing missions, and no shinobi mean no money. Our crops are mostly subsistence in nature. The excess are stocked for winters, and what little we can spare are sold to the locals, used as bribes, or exchanged for information; the same can be said about our medicinal herbs. The bottom line is, the conventional way to obtain money simply doesn't cut it. I know it's not ideal, but I am more than willing to be a shinobi if it means my family can have roofs over their heads and enjoy warm meals. Mental wise, our soldiers are more stable than countless others from the same line of work – the Yamanaka and the community as a whole provide adequate support to deal with the trauma – so I've really got nothing to complain about."

"That's thoughtful of you," the girl said with a smile. As far as the smile went, it was a small and quiet one – only a tiny quirk on her lips. "You'll be a good clan head one day."

Shikadai narrowed his eyes, not swayed by her kind words. "Is that what the question is about? To find out if I would be a good leader for the clan?"

"No," the girl drawled, "think of it as a– _ah_, a test of your character."

"Ah. . . . I see it now," Shikadai muttered. "My answer is a reflection of myself. If I would readily abandon my comrades at any given opportunity, then who's to say that I would not simply deny my responsibility, cover up my mistakes, and pretend as if nothing has happened? Don't worry, I won't shift the blame on you. I'll be held accountable for my actions as the higher-ups see fit."

The girl looked like she was about to roll her eyes in exasperation. "Don't be so morose about it. It's not like they would give you a death sentence over this."

"It's not about the punishment, it's the fact that I've even made such a reckless mistake in the first place!" Shikadai snapped. "The expectations are different when you're the only son and a clan heir. I will probably get demoted as soon as my father gets wind of this."

"Probably," she conceded. "But exactly how incompetent do you to think I am that you do not even consider the possibility that I might manage to extract crucial information out of her?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Shikadai rebutted, suddenly feeling audacious. "You're the one who act like there isn't a bloody corpse ten feet away from you. You're the one who have beaten – no, _toyed_ – with full-fledged trainees even though your profile states that you have zero training or experience in shinobi arts. If you're so competent then how come we've only heard of you _now_?

"I admit, at first I didn't put too much thought into it as it is not my place to ask any question. But then a key witness that was brought into _your_ attention," Shikadai almost snarled, "an anomaly with no clear background or abilities that oh-so-conveniently appeared today at the barrack, ended up _dead_ whilst she was under my supervision. I don't know what your purpose is or whether I could trust you, so excuse me for not knowing how competent you are because honestly, I don't even _know_ you!"

"I…" the girl started, "am a casualty of war."

The lantern flickered.

"I am nothing but a mere puppet, a pawn in a shogi game, brought to life against my wishes."

The girl lifted her palm, soft and unblemished, "I was given an illusion of freedom, a blank slate for me to paint with colors, when unexpectedly. . ." tendrils of shadows suddenly emerged and coiled around the thin appendage, "I was enlightened."

The girl – no. . . Shikari, Shikadai thought – suddenly laughed – loud and hard – as if she had only now registered the meaning behind some ugly, twisted jokes that only she could hear.

"In the back of my mind, I've always known that there must be a catch," she said, as if it could help him to understand what the hell she was talking about. It did not. "I couldn't possibly exist for no reason at all. But still. . ." she mused, "it would be nice to be left alone on my own device, to be allowed to disappear and give absolutely zero care."

"Then why _don't_ you?" Shikadai heard himself humoring her.

Her eyes flickered to meet his again – sharp and calculating, but with weariness that could only be found in seasoned veterans.

"Because the world will burn."

"What. . . ?" Shikadai asked. It was such a simple statement, a silly one even. However, the way the girl said it, with such conviction and finality, as if they would all suffer from an inevitable and horrible future – future that was filled with deaths and absolute despair – made him pause. "Why do– why did you say _that_? Is it– is it because you _killed_ her?" The evidence didn't really add up – not to mention, her lack of motive – but it would definitely explain her strange behavior. The first kill was always the hardest, especially if it was not a clean one–

"Stop," Shikari ordered, her tone tired, "just stop."

Shikadai warily watched as the girl dusted the dirt from her clothes and walked towards the woman's corpse. His eyes followed her every step as the girl swiftly drew arrays of container seal on a blank parchment, a skill which should not have been possessed by a novice shinobi-to-be.

"I know that you're confused, that things do not seem to make even the slightest sense. But sometimes. . ." she sealed the corpse away and turned to face him, her face serious, "ignorance _is_ a bliss."

Shikadai wanted to protest. The girl was acting precisely like his father: hiding things from him under the pretense of 'protecting' him. He would be thirteen soon, _goddammit_, he did not need to be babied! Shikari held up her palm before he could voice his thoughts. She turned to him and spoke right into his ears,

"Imagine a world that is. . . broken, where the time is twisted and the sky is distorted. Where space itself snaps and falls into an endless, never-ending red abyss. You could walk with eyes closed and never touch walls. You would live in a dream, where everything that you ever wished would come true. But in reality. . ." she whispered, "your very life would be sucked from you, leaving you as an empty, dead_ husk_."

Shikadai stared at the girl in muted horror as his mind was assaulted with images of the horrid place. A pale, lone moon hung at the center of all the wrongness.

"That _is_ the future," she said, "should I let things to continue as they are now." She patted his cheek reassuringly with her bony fingers, idly tucking a few stray strands of hair into his ear like his mother used to do. She smiled, bitter, but real. "Words of advice, not knowing everything is all that makes it okay sometimes."

Shikadai did not know how to answer. It was as if his tongue had suddenly been swallowed by a void, leaving him numb and speechless. He did not even realize that his lantern had fallen from his grip, scattering shards of glass and spilling oils into the wooden floor. Fire quickly spread through the basement, consuming the enforced, but unmistakably flammable materials which constructed it.

"Well. . . ? Aren't you coming?" Shikari's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Where to?" he muttered.

It was strange, but Shikadai really could not muster the will to put out the fire. He simply. . . stared. It was fitting, he thought. The scorching heat should cleanse the truth of what had transpired inside the room not too long ago. No one else had to know. No one else had to catch a glimpse of the abyss. Some things, he thought, were better left unknown. Sometimes, the truth was worse than the lie.

"Somewhere," she shrugged. "I need to tie a loose end."

"Who is it?" _Who is it that you're going to kill?_

The girl smirked.

"Our fathers."

Shikadai stopped breathing.

* * *

The friction between the hemp cords and the wooden casket grated on his ears as a gust of wind ran through the lush trees – Hashirama's trees – that surrounded the otherwise barren wasteland.

With eyes void of emotion, Tobirama stared at the Senju crest that was etched on the coffin as it became smaller and smaller, and soon, diminutive from visible sight. He closed his eyes to relish the amalgamation of shame and fury that burnt his chest. It felt like only a day had passed since they had buried Kawarama.

Stood alone in the distance with his wretched smell, Itama continued to sob.

"Shinobi do not shed tears!" barked Butsuma. "Our purpose in life is to die on the field of battle!"

Tobirama bit his lip at his father's tirade. He turned his face away from the casket, expecting to see Hashirama standing beside him, alive and well, expecting to see him argue with their father with his conflicting ideology that always made Tobirama question where the boundaries of ethics and morals truly lied. The eerie sense of déjà vu was immediately dispelled when he was greeted with nothing but empty air.

"Your brother has fought bravely," Butsuma continued. "Despite his… disobedience," Butsuma grimaced, "he has eliminated many of those savages and injured their leader right on his cursed eye. Hashirama lived up to his name as a shinobi and died as a proud warrior, you should honor his sacrifice!"

In hindsight, he should have seen this coming.

Yesterday evening, Hashirama had continued to nag their father for permission to go after Itama's team to no avail. Tobirama knew that Kawarama's death had eaten the older boy alive. Only a portion of the seven years old's remains was able to be retrieved. Should the worst scenario happen, Hashirama would have wanted to give Itama a proper burial. He had always been stubborn after all – he loved them too much – of course he would disregard their father's order to stand down. He should have known that the chakra signature he felt in his brother's room was a mere clone. Tobirama should have stopped him from leaving. If only he wasn't so careless, if only he wasn't so distracted, Hashirama might still have been alive.

He knew it. Sentiment would be the end of his elder brother.

Though the clan head – it was difficult to call the man father when he was sending them towards their deaths every day – did not say it, Tobirama knew that their clan would experience setbacks due to his brother's passing. His big brother was special, a one of a kind wonder that would only appear once in every few generations – perhaps the best shinobi that their clan would ever produce. It was part of the reason why Tobirama was so confident that Hashirama would always return home. His elder brother was nothing if not resilient. His cells regenerated too fast for the wounds that were inflicted upon him to become fatal. It would take nothing less than decapitation or severe chakra exhaustion to the point where his body could no longer heal itself to truly kill him. No one could ever replace Hashirama, lest of all Tobirama, whose parentage was often questioned due to his peculiar appearance – not that they ever said it to his face.

If only he could revive the dead. . .

But he could not possibly do that, could he?

No one had ever resurrected the deaths before. Death was a necessary phase for every living thing. Death was necessary to maintain the balance – too little death would result in overpopulation, whilst the opposite would result in extinction. He should not mess with the balance for his own selfish reason. But was it really selfish if it was done for the good of his clan?

Tobirama had always been the thinker of his family. He could create and do anything should he set his mind to it. The idea of reviving the deaths might be inconceivable for others, but it was doable to him – someway, somehow. He definitely would need to do lots of research and experiment, and he needed cadavers to do that – lots of them. People might consider him immoral, but then again. . . he had always been rather pragmatic. He would not pretend that he was a saint when he was anything but.

Wait. . .

Something pricked at the edge of his consciousness. What–

"_BUTSUMA-SAMA_!"

Tobirama straightened as a clansman appeared at the clearing. He could confirm what the messenger was about to say. The sudden influx of chakra from the western camp had told him everything.

The messenger quickly briefed his father of the situation with short, rapid codes. Butsuma's face turned grim, his dark eyes then flitted towards his youngest remaining son. "Itama, you're with him," he jerked his chin towards the messenger, "evacuation duty."

Itama gave their father a curt salute and disappeared with the messenger.

"Tobirama," Butsuma continued, his gaze sizing his heir, conveying a message that only the two of them could understand, "you know what to do."

Tobirama gave his father a brief salute – his red eyes shone with determination – before he too, flickered away.

It appeared his first experiment would happen sooner than expected, Tobirama thought.

Surely, nobody would care if a body or two were missing. After all, all was fair in love and war.

* * *

"What is that?"

Madara folded his arms together and focused his gaze towards the lump on the tray before him. Its glistening, pinkish interior was reflected on the smooth surface of the sharp blade that lay beside it.

The freezing temperature of the subterranean storage space bit right into his bones, only his fine control over his fire affinity prevented him from being incinerated by the chakra that he kept inside his stomach and lungs. The unfinished fire technique felt absolutely strange, like a twisted and backward version of constipation. It reminded of that one time when his hungover cousin tried to hold back his vomit during a clan meeting.

It did not end well.

"That was an arm," answered a voice behind him. "Well. . . part of an arm."

_Duh_, Madara thought. That much was obvious.

Madara glanced at the tall woman that had brought him into the room. Her dark – _creepy_, in his opinion – yellow eyes were filled with mirth, as if she was watching a ridiculous theater show – a one hundred and eighty degree turn from her previous behavior. He remembered her being a fragile and subdued prisoner. She never talked much, not even to her fellow inmates; and the last time he checked she was quite ill. How she had managed to come here all by herself, he did not know. However, Tajima would never let his subjects roam around without his explicit permission, thus the woman must have brought him here for a reason.

The boy gestured his fingers towards the frozen flesh.

"Whose was it? What's up with it?"

The woman grinned, all teeth, as if she was a predator who had managed to lure her prey into a trap. "Why don't you figure it out yourself?"

Madara narrowed his eyes. "How?"

She smirked. "Pay attention, child."

Madara ignored the demeaning remark and watched with strange fascination as the woman – known as Subject 37 – picked the sharp utensil and poked the edge of the brown-skinned flesh. Then, with a surprising precision, she quickly made a horizontal incision on the flesh and divided it into two smaller pieces. She then trimmed the edge of the smaller piece, cutting the flesh into a perfect rectangle.

"Now what?" he muttered.

The woman smiled. "Now you give me your hand." She waggled her long fingers towards him when he hesitated. "Go on, come here."

"Why?" Madara asked again, annoyance began to seep into his tone.

Her smile widened. "So that you can see what makes it so _special_."

Madara stared. . . and stared some more.

Two opposite sides were waging a war inside himself, one being his self-perseverance whilst the other being his curiosity. The former was induced by the fact that the woman wanted him to surrender his hand for unknown – probably nefarious – purpose was holding a butcher knife with her other hand, which was not okay _at all_. The latter, on the other hand, was stemmed by the lump's unbearably plain appearance. He, of course, was curious about what made the lump so special. It looked like a commoner's hand, a slave hand. Its tanned, dry skin was probably caused by continuous exposure to the sun because its owner had to work their bones to the ground to provide for their family.

Madara frowned. Now he felt bad for its owner. There was no way that that lump could end up here with its owner's consent. He or she was probably dead now; or missing an arm, at the very least. Thus, he decided, the best course of action was to see what made the flesh so special. He had to honor its owner's sacrifice after all.

With no regards to his own safety, Madara placed his left wrist over the woman's waiting hand. His eyes were alight with curiosity as he waited for some amazing miracle to occur.

Madara immediately regretted his decision.

Without warning, the hand immediately clamped onto his wrist. The woman's long nails dug into his skin, sharp and unrelenting. Before he could make any move to retaliate, Number 37 brought down her butcher knife into his exposed forearm and cut.

His arm was on fire. The blade easily cut through his skin and subcutaneous tissue, stopping precisely just before his nerves. The process was then repeated three more times until a rectangle – perfectly identical in dimension to the flesh that she had previously cut – was formed.

He wanted to scream for help, as retaliating and/or moving his currently trapped and indisposed arm would likely result in permanent scarring and/or accidental amputation; however, screaming most likely would cause him to exhale the flame that he stored inside him, which would not only incinerate the psycho bitch, but also everything in the room – including him. Madara could only grit his teeth and bear the pain until whatever it was that the woman wanted to do was over. Judging from her smug grin, she knew that he was completely at her mercy.

But that was just the start.

Apparently, the pain of being cut was nothing compared to the pain of having his flesh removed from him. Fresh blood oozed from the open wound, dripping into his wrist and fingers. He did not expect the women to replace his flesh with the one on the tray – the tanned skin contrasted greatly against his fair one, which already tinged blue from the blood-loss – nor did he expect her to sew the skins together like cheap rags.

They looked wrong, felt wrong.

Driven by fear, pain, and survival instinct; the second that the women had stitched his skin, he grabbed her with his free arm and flickered into an open clearing. Anger coursed through his vein as he threw her away with a sickening crunch before he let loose of the stream of fire that he had stored inside his lungs. The concentrated blaze quickly engulfed her, its intense heat burnt her to crisp before she even had a chance to react.

Madara swayed on his feet, feeling nauseous. His eyes, now blood-red, were transfixed on the charred clearing, on the charred remains on its center. He knew that fire would first burn and peel away the outer layer of skin, then after a while the dermis would shrink and split open and fat would begin to leak out. The most severe burns could cause so much damage to the nerves that one might no longer be able to feel pain. He did not know whether the woman had survived long enough to recognize that she could not feel pain anymore. Perhaps the initial pain of the fire was so severe that her body went into primary shock.

Madara cringed as the awful, acrid odor that assaulted his nostrils. It was nauseating and sweet, putrid and steak-like, akin to leather being tanned over a flame. The smell was so thick and rich that it was almost a taste. He doubted that he would ever get the smell out of his nose entirely, no matter how long he lived. But still. . . he supposed he had it good. It was better being traumatized than being dead. Moments like this made him understand his father a little more – his ruthlessness, his drive, his quest for vengeance. . .

Perhaps killing everyone _was_ the only way to reach peace. Greed, after all, was the root of all evil. If there was no one left, then there would be no source of conflict. Granted, it might mean the eradication of the human race, but in the long term. . .

Madara shook his head. He was musing silly thoughts again. He had better go to the infirmary and get his arm fixed. He needed to sterilize the wound, perhaps return to the storage room to retrieve––

"Fuck."

That was the only word that could sum up his entire thoughts. He had half-expected his wound to swell – to bleed again, even – but he did not expect it to. . . heal so well. The stitches had fallen off, leaving a perfect – if discolored – skin in its wake.

So that was its special property, huh? Fast regeneration. It opened up so many cans of possibilities for wound treatments and tissue regeneration. Who knew, perhaps it could be used to fix nerve damage, or _oh, oh_ – grow organs.

Madara felt absolutely giddy. He walked home with a spring in his step, the foreign flesh in his arm momentarily forgotten in favor of his new discovery.

Perhaps the medics would be able to heal his father's eye after all.

. . .

In the middle of the charred clearing, hidden by scorched flesh and deteriorating bones, Black Zetsu grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The storage room in Madara's POV is an ancient type of evaporative cooler called Yakhchāl that was made by Persian engineers in 400BC.  
2\. In the manga, Madara and Hashirama have only met once before Itama's death.


	9. Gone Baby Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So..." Shikamaru quietly surveyed his now cramped room, "is there any reason why you people disturb my much-needed sleep and chained me into the wall?" And with chakra suppressor to boot. "Is this part of the training exercise? It's kinky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Nara Shikari - END

_"Something was off, I knew, but I was young_

_And didn't think adult things could go wrong._

_So as we quietly filed out of the house_

_We wouldn't see again for another decade,"_

_ **Julia Alvarez, Exile** _

* * *

His ancestors had a terrible sense of humor, Shikamaru decided, and it said a lot, coming from him since his own was pretty askew, like showing Shikadai the Infinite Tsukuyomi to teach him to shut his mouth_._

Shikamaru knew it was reckless of him, not to mention cruel, but if experience had taught him something, it was that if he wanted to get away with anything – especially anything shabby or even remotely scandalous – it would be best to appear crazy; hence his theatrical act.

Shikamaru had only just discovered some serious, possibly world threatening issues, when Shikadai had appeared out of the blue before Shikamaru could do some damage control; and after delving inside Hotaru's rapidly cooling and dying brain, getting blindsided by copious amount of memories in the process because he was a disgrace of a Yamanaka, only to discover that Dokuzetsu had been hijacking Etsuko's body all along, doing only Kami knew what, Shikamaru was quite distressed. Suddenly everything became more than just petty family drama about a poor girl with her cheating mother and bastard father who was trying to make a place for herself in the big, bad world; suddenly the purpose of Shikamaru's existence became clear:

To hide until the end of the world.

Shikamaru wouldn't delude himself into believing that he could defeat the physical manifestation of Kaguya's will. The thing was practically immortal; even if Shikamaru blasted it into thousands of pieces like he did to Hidan, it would simply mend itself back together and go on its merry way to ruin other people's life again. The only seemingly foolproof method (Shikamaru often wondered at night if it _had_ actually managed to get away and pushed them into another war) to get rid of it was through sealing arts, which was unfortunate because he was neither a sealing master – he was a mid-tier, at best – nor someone with the Sage's power. Considering his work ethic, Shikamaru would probably die before he could become one.

No. Just no.

Shikamaru would leave the cleaning job to the pro. The God of Shinobi existed for a reason and Shikamaru did not want the guy to be unemployed. His existence had done enough damage already, and he did not want to screw the timeline even more.

This time around Shikamaru would fulfill his dream of ordinary life: to marry a regular person who wasn't too ugly nor too pretty. To have two children, first a girl, then a boy. To retire after his children become successful, spend the rest of his life playing shōgi or Go, and finally died of old age before his spouse did. End of story.

He simply had to get out of _this_ mess first.

"So…" Shikamaru quietly surveyed his now cramped room, "is there any reason why you people disturb my much-needed sleep and chained me into the wall?" And with a chakra suppressor to boot, which Shikamaru had allowed them to put because he wanted them to feel safe (and because he knew how to get around it, _duh_). "Is this part of the training exercise? It's kinky."

Daisuke's mouth twitched into a frown. Disappointment practically oozed out of him. "Did you kill your clan head?"

Shikamaru blinked. Repeatedly.

_That_… was unexpected.

"You mean his dad?" Shikamaru nodded his chin towards Shikadai, who was growling menacingly from the corner of the room.

Daisuke nodded imperceptibly, as if he was afraid that further reaction would set Shikadai off. It probably would, since the preteen looked like he wanted to jump across the room and slashed his blade across his throat.

"You have my condolence." Shikamaru inclined his head. His tone was gentle, but firm. "Unfortunately, it's not me that you're looking for. I didn't kill him, didn't even know he was dead. I don't know him and have never spoken to him. I finished my patrol and then went to meditate on the dojo's rooftop to clear my head before returning to the barrack, where I found you guys waiting for me."

"You're a liar," Shikadai spat. "You omit the parts where you killed that woman, put me under that horrible genjutsu, and told me that you will kill our fathers." The boy clenched his hands, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I should've left you to rot in that basement."

At the word 'fathers', the Yamanaka clan head, a.k.a. Shikari's paternal grandfather, a handsome man in his forties (who really had no business doing meager job at the light of dawn because he was the _freaking_ clan head), twitched – for lack of better word – before he swiftly composed himself. It was strange, because Shikamaru was pretty sure that the man did not give the slightest shit about Hitoshi.

"I said I needed to tie a loose end," Shikamaru clarified. And it was the truth, he was simply going to question them about the Uchiha sleeper agents fiasco, plant some ideas into their heads – coerce and blackmail them if he had to – to mitigate the possible fallout that could hurt their clans, and then remove himself from their memories. Shikamaru could not, in good conscience, leave them alone when he had the means to help them. "It does not mean, however, that I will kill them. I put _you_ in that genjutsu because you wouldn't stop your ridiculous accusations, among other things."

Yamanaka cleared his throat, trying to reign the situation. "Back into our main issue. A head of a clan – a very good friend of mine – had died as of an hour ago. There's no sign of breaking in, no sign of struggles, nothing. We are trying to narrow the possible list of suspects that have come near the dojo from the last three hours. Shikadai-kun and Daisuke-san, along with corroboration from many witnesses, give us investigators strong reasons to believe that you might be our suspect. You have shown remarkable acting talent, versatile combat abilities and wide ranges of skills, all of those which the real Nara Shikari _cannot_ possibly possess overnight. It will be remarkably easy for you to get a hold of her, as she lives with a single father that is busy with work. It's a clever cover too, because who would suspect a woman? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, I don't," Shikamaru deadpanned. Showing himself as a 'prodigy' was a gamble, but he did not foresee it to backfire like this. "But you're right, I'm not Nara Shikari, not really. Who I really am is irrelevant, as I have absolutely no intention of doing you or your clans any harm. I've gotten my eyes on something bigger than yourselves or your clans, something that you definitely do not want to get involved with; because the second it sets its eyes on you, the second it thinks that you're a threat towards its goal, you're _dead_. The clan head's death could be directly tied to it, but I doubt it.

"I mean, look at me. Truly look at me. Can't you see how confused I am? Do I even have a motive in your cheap fiction, or perhaps a simple common sense to escape after I have killed your so called '_good friend_' as you have put it? Probably not. I am simply a mindless, convenient _villain, _aren't I?"

Daisuke slapped him with a resounding crack. "Mind your manners, _girl_."

Shikamaru flexed his throbbing jaw and gritted his teeth. "Soft punch, Akimichi." Shikamaru licked his bloodied lip. "No wonder they benched you."

Daisuke smiled benignly. "That was simply the entrée."

Yamanaka continued his speech, his pale eyes narrowed. "You choose to be difficult, I see. Which is a shame, because I want us to work together to prove your innocence. It's a routine process; painless, really. I simply have to take a peek into your mind. Cooperate, and you shall be granted a swift extraction. Resist, and I will extract that information from your head in the most painful manner possible and you will _wish_ that you were dead."

Shikamaru stared, undeterred. "Look, I know that I'm a suspicious and an all-around unpleasant individual, but before you waste your time on me, have you ever considered the possibility that the man died of natural cause?" He held up his hand before he could be interrupted. "Ah-ah-ah, hear me out first. We live in a difficult time and medical researches are quite limited – what with us running for our lives and all – so you might not know yet, but this involves you too, especially you." He pointed at Shikadai.

"I am aware that it seems strange for someone relatively young and apparently 'healthy' to suffer from sudden death. But just like how the Yamanaka are more prone to suffer brain aneurysm, the Nara are more prone to suffer from chronic stress. Our brains take too much information… think too much. Trying to survive and making sure that others survive is hard, _especially_ for a clan head, and I know for a fact that you're stressed so don't give me that look."

The brat huffed.

"When you are stressed," Shikamaru continued, "your amygdala – the area of your brain that deals with stress – signals to your bone marrow to produce extra white blood cells. This, in turn, causes arterial inflammation, which is involved in the process that leads to heart attacks, angina and strokes. Stress can also increase your blood pressure, which is a risk factor for cardiovascular disease. If stress itself is a risk factor for heart disease, it could be because chronic stress exposes our bodies to unhealthy, persistently elevated levels of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol.

"So, did your father die of sudden cardiac death? I don't know, you have to perform an autopsy to find out. Did he exhibit symptoms of chronic stress – headaches, indigestion, muscle tension, difficulty sleeping, racing heart, exhaustion, weight gain or loss, upset stomach, constant worry, inability to concentrate, loss of sense of humor, poor memory, anger, anxiety, mood swings, irritability, compulsive eating, impulsive actions, withdrawal from social situations, and so on? Did he complain about chest pain, perhaps lightheadedness or abnormal heartbeat? _I. Don't. Know._ But before you accuse me of murder, do try to eliminate natural cause first; that is, if you're not simply looking for someone to blame. If you _do_, you know where to find me."

* * *

It all started when Madara was unable to pee.

He had come into the creek to brood when the Head Healer had dismissed his idea of growing Tajima a new eye as ridiculous and impossible to be done and yada-yada-yada. In hindsight, it was mostly his fault, as he had been too excited and had come as quite brash and had not prepared his case beforehand before barging into the infirmary where the man was supervising their dying clansmen and started chattering into the man's ears until he was _this_ close from having aneurysm.

But what could Madara say? He _thrived_ in others' misery.

Madara stood there for a while, humming a song that his mother used to sing to him as he absentmindedly stared at a bark of a tree on the edge of the creek with his hands bunched on the waist of his pants, before dismissing the whole thing as a lost cause.

Madara tugged his pants up and turned around, about to reprimand whoever it was that thought that standing behind him and not respecting their fellow men's basic needs was a good idea, but the sight that greeted him shocked him to his core.

There was a white-haired boy at the other side of the creek. The boy looked to be around Izuna's age, around ten-years-old, perhaps younger even, with a black sleeveless shirt tucked into unfashionable hakama pants and a pair of wooden flip-flops. His arms, which looked skinny and frail, were protected by short gloves that looked like they were made from animal membrane – perhaps goats, lambs, or pigs intestines. The boy's hands were wrist-deep inside someone's chest.

"Um…"

Madara had seen many weird things during his short twelve years of life, but this one was quickly climbing into the top of the list. He knew that mankind was a weird species with weird fetishes, and that some human liked to eat the insides of their fellow human in order to gain more power or immortality or something that he did not really care about; perhaps the boy was one of them.

Their eyes locked. Pitch black versus red, and Madara felt his instinct urged him to activate his sharingan. Not willing to give his identity away, Madara coughed awkwardly and slowly turned into another direction. "I probably should go…"

"No, wait!" the boy called.

Madara forcefully stopped his legs.

"Please, I need help," he iterated, calmly this time. "My hands are stuck."

The boy was probably lying. But still, like a bee that was attracted to pollen, Madara inched closer, took a peek at the mess of blood and gore, then immediately cringed and regretted his action whilst willing himself not to throw up. He felt a sense of déjà vu, the whole thing reminded him of the night with the freaky girl that pumped a heart with her hand.

Madara did not know why he kept on encountering and interacting with crazy people. Why couldn't they be more normal, like Izuna, for once? Despite that, he would be lying if he said that he wasn't curious. Was he an adrenaline junkie? He probably was. He loved fighting above all else: the sights, the sounds, the thrum of his heart.. even the taste of his own blood.

The boy looked expectantly at him, as if he already knew that Madara would agree. He could practically see the upward tug of lips on the brat's otherwise blank face.

_He is sooo going to regret this._

Madara crossed the creek. "What do you want me to do?"

"Please cut off this section of his ribs, so I can lift his liver. But don't graze his lung."

Madara blinked. Liver, as an organ, was soft-textured. Eaten raw, it was like a meat-flavored jelly with a bit of a snap and a chew. Cooked, it could be tender, almost creamy, or – if over-cooked – tough, dry, and mealy. "Okay."

"And don't contaminate anything."

_Obviously_. As if Madara would touch any of those bits without his gloves. "Okay."

"And full disclosure, since you show me your sharingan–"

Madara blanched and willed his eyes to turn black, only to realize a second later that he hadn't activated them in the first place.

He growled at the smirking boy.

"–I knew it, you're an Uchiha! I swear, all of you look the same. Still… full disclosure, I believe it is only fair to inform you that our families are archenemies–"

"Who aren't," Madara muttered.

"–Nevertheless, you seem like an amiable person – certainly pragmatic enough – and I would like to be your acquaintance, if you like."

Madara stared at the boy, at his eerie, pale, red eyes and at the pale body with the dirty blond hair before him. Inwardly he wondered what it was that had made the boy do this kind of atrocity, what had the man done to him. Madara noted the shadow below the boy's eyes, the droop of his shoulders, the darkness and the spark of madness that lied before his eyes... and stopped himself from prying.

Years later Madara would look back and continuously regret the moment when he plucked the ribs away with an air of complete resignation and said, "Okay."

It was the start of a beautiful friendship,

Not.

* * *

Shikamaru had stayed in the room for a week. He had unchained and rid himself of the chakra suppressor by meticulously overloading the arrays of seal, frizzling it along with the outermost layer of his skin. His neck was still pink and tender from the burn, but the herbal ointment that he had brought along helped to prevent infection. In his defense, he had really, really needed to pee.

There were no guards that were stationed on the floor that he was in, but a packet of military ration was always left in front of his door three times a day, so Shikamaru saved himself from the effort of climbing the stairs and simply laze around his room whilst reading whatever scrolls or books that someone had left alongside his food.

Today was day eight, and no food had come.

Feeling a bit hungry, Shikamaru dog-eared his newest leather bound book and tucked it into his satchel. He then put on his nicest yukata and fastened his shoes. He stretched out a bit before fastening his belongings into his waist.

Shikamaru trekked through the familiar twists and turns, climbing stairs upon stairs before reaching a trapdoor that Shikamaru was sure was not supposed to be there. He gently pushed the door open using his shadow, and came face to face with an empty land. There were no mess halls, no barracks, no dojo, no outpost… nothing. Everywhere he looked, there was only grass.

"Miss?"

Shikamaru blinked.

There was a peasant – a farmer, from the looks of it – who was kneeling a few feet away from him. In his hands were a packet of food and – surprisingly – a letter. Shikamaru gently took them away and put the food into his satchel. "Thank you," he said politely.

The farmer flinched, as if Shikamaru's demeanor had scared him. The man then bowed lowly before immediately trying to scurry away. Shikamaru skimmed over the letter.

"Who sends you?"

The farmer looked down onto his feet, his hands quivering with nervousness. "A young man, Miss. Four days ago, 'e gave me two gold coins to bring you offerings. Offerings for a Witc', 'e said. T'at offering was the last one. M' sorry for being late, Miss."

_Him? A witch?_ "Never mind that." Shikamaru once again raked his eyes over the empty land. He could see marks from where one of the supporting beams had been buried into the ground. It was almost like all the buildings had been lifted off of the ground and carted away overnight. "Have you seen anything strange?"

"Aye, Miss! I was planting some corns when giants popped out of nowhere an' then disappeared."

_Definitely Akimichi's Multi-Size Technique_, Shikamaru thought.

"Does anyone else see them?"

"I don't thin' so, Miss. I work alone, just enough to feed me and ma' family."

"An honorable job…" Shikamaru tucked the letter into his pocket. He then made a few quick hand signs before tapping the man at his temple, mimicking the gestures that Ino had once done thousands of times. "But you never see me or the giants. You never received two gold coins from anyone. You have them because you are an honest man with an honest job. You never come into this place because it belongs to a wicked Witch. You will return to your family and never look back."

Shikamaru hauled the farmer up and pushed him into the opposite direction, then whispered, "Go."

Once the farmer had already walked considerable distance, Shikamaru made a Ram sign and as per the instruction on the latter's attachment, a genjutsu that used to conceal the barrack complex snapped shut, rendering it invincible to random passerby.

Safe within the confinement of the genjutsu protection, Shikamaru plopped down onto the grass and opened the letter again. It was written in neat blocks of kanji and kana and was signed with a bold insignia at its very bottom.

> _By the time you open this letter, we are no longer within the precinct. Do not fret about our whereabouts. Wherever we are, we are exactly where we want ourselves to be, i.e. as far away as possible from you._
> 
> _I have always thought that the three-clans formation was tedious, that it would make it hard for us to push aside our differences and personal agendas. I was right. That is, until you came along. You fill important needs in our lives, giving us scapegoats to blame and common enemies to unite over – something to be afraid of._
> 
> _It took us some digging, but we eventually uncovered everything. I do not know if you're aware of it, but your existence marked the biggest breach of security in the history of our clans: underhanded deals, homicides, thefts, human trafficking, unethical experimentation… The extent of things that your 'father' is willing to do for you is astounding; which is ironic, considering the fact that you're simply emulating his daughter. We found him in your house, disemboweled. We are not sure whether he committed seppuku or if it was his own father who took matters into his own hand – Yamanaka-dono refuses to talk about it._
> 
> _We obviously cannot remain there. There's you, there's the Uchiha, and then there's that threat that you spoke about. I do not understand who __it is__ that you're so wary of, but I would rather not tempt fate and bring its attention towards us. You do whatever it is that needs to be done, but if there's any part of you that truly __wishes__ to do us no harm, _stay away_._
> 
> _These last few days have been hectic, and we still aren't sure of your intention, so do forgive us for lacing draughts into your foods (I have sent you some books as consolidation). You might feel _ _tired_ _ and more sleepy than usual, but it's quite harmless. The effects should disappear within days and you shall be as good as new. I have sent someone to deliver your _ _food_ _ in our absence, please take care of him after you have received this letter._
> 
> _In another life we might have _ _been good_ _ friends, but we both meet under unfortunate circumstances, and we both have our own responsibilities and priorities; mine is to keep my clan safe, even from itself and at your expense. I'm still too inexperienced to assume my father's position – I am young and angry at the situation and I have rashly blamed you – but when I do, I'll make sure to be a good one. That's a promise._
> 
> _Do what you want with that land, it was never ours to begin with. Grow crops, herbals, or vegetables; perhaps build a simple shed for cloud watching – it's quite therapeutic, I heard. Wherever you go, I pray that life is kind to you and I hope that you wish us the same._
> 
> _Yours sincerely,_
> 
> _\- Nara Shikadai_

Shikamaru sighed and neatly folded the letter before securing it inside his satchel. The grass flattened beneath him as he lied down and closed his eyes. Blade of grass tickled his side, each one was no more than a sliver of green, yet together they danced in a way that brought out his pain and let a little goodness in. The morning sun felt warm against his arms – safe. With the chorus of the birds above and the gentle breeze of wind against his face, Shikamaru drifted to sleep,

As a free man.


	10. Into the Deep End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Senju Tobirama. I know. The question is, what's a Senju princeling doing in this backwater county?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: The Wandering Miko

"_When I have neither pleasure nor pain and have been breathing for a while the lukewarm insipid air of these so called good and tolerable days, I feel so bad in my childish soul that I smash my moldering lyre of thanksgiving in the face of the slumbering god of contentment and would rather feel the very devil burn in me than this warmth of a well-heated room."_

_ **Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf** _

* * *

"Say, Senju, why are you dissecting corpses? I mean, I know that the Senju are a bunch of freaks–" Madara side-stepped the younger shinobi's punch, "But your hobby is a tad bit excessive, don't you think?"

Madara had zero intention of starting a friendship with the white-haired boy. They would probably face each other in battles one of these days and probably ended up killing each other. But still, he goaded the Senju as per routine – because _God_, punching the boy in the face was quite a stress-reliever and the feeling was definitely mutual.

The Senju continued to throw punches and kicks. "It is called _science_, Uchiha. Not that you have enough brain cells to know, you uncultured swine."

"Tsk, tsk… at least I don't have two left feet," Madara sneered and grabbed the Senju by the wrist and, unthinkingly, tugged him into a better stance and jabbed his fingers at the areas that required more work. The boy muttered a quick thanks and threw him a punch, which Madara once again sidestepped only to get kicked on his right hips.

Madara produced a grunt of pain and turned into a defensive position. "That's better."

The younger boy smirked. "I know."

They went at it for almost an hour. Him teasing and correcting the boy's taijutsu form like he did to his own brother before the spar progressively turned into more violent when ninjutsu upon ninjutsu were brought into the mix. The spar eventually ended in stalemate, and they were lying on their backs by the end of it. Madara considered it as his win when he managed to get into a sitting position first.

Madara hobbled into the still form of the Senju soldier, who was lying face down on the edge of the creek, and nudged the boy's bruised ankle. "Oy, get up."

No response.

"I know that you're awake. You can't fool me, Senju."

Still, no response.

Exasperated, Madara dragged the boy by his collar – he became worried when he saw that his lips were a bit blue – and unceremoniously punched him on the chest.

The boy woke up gasping, coughing out water, and upon opening his eyes and realizing what had happened, promptly started sobbing like a baby. Madara sat down next to him and patiently waited until the boy calmed down. The younger boy would probably slap him if Madara hugged him like how he would comfort Izuna.

The boy hiccupped. "Why did you do that?"

Madara took a bite of apple which he stole from his sparring partner pocket. "Do what? Stopping you from drowning yourself to death?"

The Senju boy's petulant scowl was back. Red tinged his cheeks. "I'm not trying to drown myself. I'm just trying a new technique for breathing underwater, that's all."

"Right…" Madara said dryly. Trust a Senju to act demented and stubborn. "Like I said, you can't fool me, Senju. You're not the first person who tried to use me as a means to kill themselves."

The boy blinked, remnants of tears marred his cheeks, which had not lost all of their baby fat. It was strange to see the albino without his petulant scowl permanently etched on his cherubic face.

"My big brother was… he was very sad," Madara started. "He had been sad for a very long time. I think he couldn't keep up with the pressure. The war took a heavy toll on him. When I was seven, he tried to kill himself by using himself as a shield for an attack that was meant for me. He lived, obviously. There's _no way_ my father would let his son died in such a stupid way. My brother tried, again and again, and he kept on living. I quickly learned to push him out of the way every time he tried to pull a similar stunt until he eventually stopped altogether. I thought he was getting better.

"One day, he asked me to smuggle him these herbals and invited me for a tea. I didn't think much of it. I was quite happy actually, because we had never been especially close – we had different mothers, you see. He was very nice to me that day. He asked me about my day, then told me about his and told me stories about his duties as clan heir. He then tucked me to bed and I remembered nothing else. Two days later I woke up in the infirmary and I was told that my brother had ended his life. Overdose, they said. It was quite a scandal. My father was beyond furious." Madara massaged his temple. "One day I was the spare son, and the next I was the clan heir."

The Senju looked down on his hands. "That's messed up."

Madara snorted. "Welcome to the warring states."

The Senju chuckled, but it sounded choked. "My elder brother died a few days ago," he whispered, "and now I am the clan heir. I have never wanted the position. I have never really liked fighting, actually… but I love creating new techniques. I am not charismatic or kind, unlike my brother. People already think that I am a freak because of my looks and my odd interests." He covered his face with his hands. "I'm out of my depth."

Madara turned to face the Senju, gently tapping the boy's shoulder so that he stopped hiding his face and looked directly at him. "All I can say is just keep on living. Sure, life sucks, but that's nothing new. I'm not saying that everything will be alright, but you _will_ cope, somehow. Don't do that stupid stunt again, or I swear I will gut you myself. You will live, grow older, and you and I will meet in battlefields. We will become so strong that nobody could stop us, and then he will shake hands and stop fighting. Everyone would have no choice but to obey us and then you could retire and invent as many techniques as you wanted to. You hear me?"

The Senju laughed, genuinely this time.

"Anyhow, speaking of your questionable hobby, I believe what you're looking for is this girl. A Brunette, has dimples, around six to eight years old. No insignia. Unknown skill set, but a more than decent medic with unconventional methods. I once saw her maintain blood circulation by pumping a heart with her hand, and it _worked_."

Senju tapped his chin. "No insignia, you say?"

Madara took another bite of the apple. "Yes. If I knew who she was, I would have hunted her down by now for trying to kill me."

The insufferable brat smirked. "I would've thanked her."

"See, that's where you got it wrong, Senju. But I understand, I am ultimately humanity's finest specimen, thus I cannot blame you for your jealousy–"

"_Gods_, here we go again–"

* * *

"At first glance, the Land of Fire agricultural landscape appears to be dominated by rice paddies, laid out in regimented grids across the lowlands that comprise around a fifth of the entire landmass of the country, and tightly packed into mountain valleys and coastal terraces wherever slope and aspect permit. There are, however, a series of other important grains traditionally grown in the country, including barley, wheat, buckwheat, beans, and millets, and they supplement rice especially in mountainous areas or in famine."

The cow mooed as Shikamaru milked its teats.

"With the exception of the capital and few other cities, most of the land is still undergoing land development. The provincial and district offices organize large-scale projects using peasant labor as a form of tax to open paddy land on nearby level ground. The land is state owned because it is public, publicly irrigated, and developed with state-organized labor. Peasants are allotted parcels of paddy land but in return can be forced to participate in state land-opening activities. Powerful peasants often abandon their public paddy land and open their own lands in the mountainous back country. It is not difficult to maintain private rights to such lands, and in doing so, they easily avoid the labor demanded by the state. Tiny pockets of valley land tucked away among the hills are suitable for such individual development because water is readily available from springs and streams."

Shikamaru stopped milking when the udder sagged and wrinkled. He lifted the bucket and sidestepped before the cow could kick him. It was simply his luck to get stuck with such a troublesome one. Cattles were a hassle to find, especially since the Daimyō Court tried to discourage a meat diet as it did not want rice-growing peasants to consume meat. Samurai, the warrior-class people, however, regularly hunted for wild animals for their own consumption.

"Leading peasant families choose land suitable for development near a water source in the valley, where the wind is light and there's no danger of flooding. Powerful peasants will gain control of the water source and then develop paddy lands, extending from the area nearest the water source deep in the valley to the level land below. They will also maintain dry fields in the hilly areas adjacent to the valley in order to supplement their diet by raising buckwheat and other grains besides rice."

Shikamaru deposited a handful of fresh grass for the ungrateful cow who now had its back turned to him.

"Of course, both the paddies in the valleys and the low-lying paddy land have their disadvantages. The former, dependent on local water sources, frequently suffers drought. The latter, on the other hand, is often flooded when the river overflows its banks. So, even though crops have been planted, in some years there is no harvest, and in especially bad years planting itself is impossible."

Shikamaru walked into his makeshift kitchen and poured the milk into a double boiler. He then created a clone to pasteurize the milk whilst he himself grabbed a straw hat and a knife.

"And _that_ is where I came into the picture."

Nara Shikamaru was dirt poor, no question about it.

The realization came in with the same glaring clarity as the fact that the sky was blue on the first day of his exile as Shikamaru bit on a roasted snake that he was sure would taste better with a bit of seasoning. All he had in his possessions were a few layers of shabby clothes, books, and toiletries. He was, essentially, a beggar, and without his chakra was no different from any other refugees out there.

He owned a land, of course; a wide valley that was tucked between two lovely hills with a small river flowing on its center. It was every upstart-farmers' wet dream and Shikamaru was sitting on top of it. However, it being an illegal land meant that it had to be protected with utmost care; and protected it was.

Through quick sweep around the parameter Shikamaru had found nothing less than fifty, chakra taxing glyphs that functioned as a barrier to protect the land from prying eyes. Their design was ancient, very inefficient, and Shikamaru was not sure whether he could tweak them without blowing himself or everything within the radius. However, if left on their own device they would run out of chakra 'battery' in less than four weeks and Shikamaru would be left to fend the valley off of vultures that would no doubt swarm it and try to plant their grubby hands on it. If Shikamaru tried to 'charge' it himself, he would soon run out of chakra and die.

By abandoning him alone in the valley, Shikadai and fams had basically signed his death warrant – him, an unknown variable with unknown abilities – with minimum effort and zero casualty whilst ridding themselves of a troublesome land. Using it for minor military barracks simply did not worth its heavy maintenance cost. Truly, the whole thing would have been commendable if Shikamaru was not the one who received the brunt of it.

Shikamaru had two options, to find someone who could tweak the seal or gain legal ownership of the land. Both required money, and like Shikamaru said, he was dirt poor. The latter had a higher chance of succeeding, as the valley was technically an unclaimed land, and as far as anyone on the outside could see it had been uninhabited for a long period of time and the neighbors were not aware of anyone living there. But still, even if he _did_ succeed in gaining its ownership, once the genjutsu fell off, the only thing that prevented others from pillaging his land was a piece of paper, and that was not in the least bit reassuring, not when he was practically a nobody.

Shikamaru could steal the money, but stealing from an already miserable peasant was simply not his style. He contemplated taking golds from a local lord, but decided a second later that it would probably attract too much attention.

_Seeds_, however, were more loosely guarded and in this part of the country, almost everyone who was everyone had _tons_ of them. Local warrior overlords and powerful peasants were central to land development and reclamation, although the actual labor was generally carried out by small communities of peasants. Because they had access to labor, the local overlords and powerful peasants were able to gain control of fertile, well-irrigated paddy land. As a result, their agricultural operations were generally stable and prosperous, unlike those of the small cultivators. The peasants' first obligation was to furnish labor to the local overlord and in return they could have food, seeds, and – in lean years – rice.

Unlike his overlords or peasants neighbors, Shikamaru knew a handful of tricks to handle the upcoming drought and the resulting famine and how to deal with pest and engineer superior breeds of crops. He could even use the underground lodging for hydroponic purposes as soon as he had the time to create some light bulbs; LEDs were still out of his reach, for now. Money was a guarantee, and once food became scarce he would be the sole crops' distributor; and if that was not enough, he could always sell other commodities as well. Shikamaru had memorized the Nara Clan Medical Encyclopedia from front to back; he knew which herbs that could be used to treat what ailments and had years worth of medical researchers inside his head. He might as well put the title 'Witch Doctor' to use.

Beneath the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, Shikamaru tightened his stolen straw hat and trekked through a field of poppies, one of the few fields of grown plants that were left untouched in the valley. He examined the ripening pods. His shadow lengthened into tendrils that spread out across the field, the tips of the tendrils solidified and formed a razor sharp blade. Shikamaru carefully sliced the bulb under the poppy plant; his shadow followed suit; and slowly drops of thick, white opium gum oozed out onto the pods' surfaces.

"That's it… come to mama, Big H."

Shikamaru grinned. He might just have enough money to employ a seal master, after all.

* * *

Nichijō, like its namesake, was a mind-blowingly ordinary place. It was a small village with a population of less than two hundreds, which mostly consisted of farmers. According to Itama, this was the place where he and his supposed savior were supposed to conduct their exchange.

So far, the only interesting piece of information that Tobirama had managed to garner from the locals – well, one farmer, in particular – was that there was a witch that lived on the southernmost part of the village. Tobirama would bet his money that the 'witch' was actually his target. The moniker might dissuade civilians from coming any closer, but for Tobirama, it was practically an invitation for infiltration and some espionage.

Sneaking out of the compound also proved to be easier than expected. His father did not even seem to notice his absence, too used to how Tobirama often faded into the background until called upon. It was Hashirama who used to lighten up their house. Tobirama was the quiet, brooding one.

Tobirama inched closer to the strange grass field that laid before him. His senses told him that it was a genjutsu, but he wasn't able to dispel it. A wide-area genjutsu seemed to be the most likely suspect.

Tobirama walked along the edge of the grass field, his eyes skimming over his surroundings to search for the anchors that kept the genjutsu in place. All signs suggested that it was an older type of fūin-genjutsu, one that provided a very good cloaking for the intended area, if a bit chakra taxing. It would have worked for any other shinobi, but not for an extraordinary sensor who also happened to dabble in fūinjutsu like Tobirama.

A particularly boring rock caught his attention. A glyph was inscribed on the ground below it. He crouched and shimmied closer to take a better look at it. The symbol that was used seemed familiar, and Tobirama was about to get his hand on it when a feminine hand fell on his shoulder, stopping him.

"What are you doing here?"

Behind him stood a brunette with a telltale of dimples on her cheeks. She wore pastel-colored nondescript clothing with no identifying insignia in sight. In passing, she could be any other girl from the village, but the way she carried herself was like a seasoned shinobi. The girl must have been the infamous witch.

"Ah, yes. I apologize for intruding your property," Tobirama said. "My name is–"

Shikamaru sighed. "Senju Tobirama. I know. What's a Senju princeling doing in this backwater county?"


	11. KA-BU-KI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did it go wrong, he wondered?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: The Wandering Miko

Shikamaru felt his hand drifted down towards his pocket; reaching for what he did not know. Perhaps a box of cigarettes, a particular shade of purple nail polish, or even a not-yet-invented bag of barbecue chips. His hand almost reached to scratch the goatee that was no longer there. Shikamaru was not sure why, but he had developed some sort of complex where he unconsciously imitated the daily habit of the dead people around him.

_My elder brother has recently passed away._

Shikamaru inwardly wondered if it was the reason why he had taken such a liking towards gardening. It might not be a spur at the moment, after all; perhaps it never was. Perhaps it was a cosmic sign after all, of how badly he had messed up and inadvertently caused the death of the man that would one day unite the shinobi clans in the Land of Fire, which in turn would lay foundation for the formation of other hidden villages, and subsequently started a period of peace – however momentarily – in the elemental nation.

Feeling his headache mounting, Shikamaru shifted his hand to the small of his back, pretending to be deep in thought when in reality his right fingers was wrangling his willowy wrist and simply _squeezed_ – as if by doing so he could grind himself away to dust.

_I find myself in need of guidance._

Where did it go wrong, he wondered? Was saving one brother meant sacrificing the other? Though lazy as he was, Shikamaru knew that the name Senju Itama was only mentioned in passing in the history book; it would not be illogical to assume that the boy died young.

Shikamaru could almost feel his mother's presence behind him, menacingly brandishing a knife and a frying pan, ready to bash his head in.

_Look at what you've done, you fool! You condemn everyone to live in a world without the God of Shinobi and the Legendary Slug Princess! How are you going to fix this?!_

His gaze turned faraway, for a moment simply wallowing in self-pity whilst his brain absorbed the sheer amount of shit that he had put himself and the rest of the elemental nation in, before acceptance and rational thoughts quickly settled in, replacing the useless thoughts. There was no use lamenting about what had happened. He was not omnipotent, he had no knowledge on how to revive the dead - it would be for the best to simply move on. Even if he was given the option to turn back the time, Shikamaru knew what he stood for; he could not in good conscience let a child be slaughtered by five grownups.

Shikamaru cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the future Nidaime – or was it Shodai now? – who had been watching him for quite some time now, politely waiting for Shikamaru to break out of his stupor whilst carefully cataloging every information that he could deduct from his person. The boy was not exactly discreet, but he certainly did it with more subtlety than other soldiers his age, which Shikamaru applauded.

"It's getting a bit hot, don't you think? Why don't we talk inside?" he said, "I don't think the sun is good for our complexion."

The boy nodded, his face betrayed nothing. "I suppose you will need to bind my eyes then…?"

Shikamaru shook his head. "That would be the most logical course of action, but no... Just keep your eyes closed until I tell you otherwise. You said that you come in peace, thus I shall treat you with courtesy and expect you to do the same."

Wordlessly, those red orbs fluttered shut, allowing long lashes to drape over the contrasting shadows beneath the boy's eyes. He had not been sleeping, Shikamaru noted.

Shikamaru murmured a quick thanks and wound his arm around the Senju's back – who reflexively tensed but quickly loosen up at Shikamaru's quiet assurance – before flickering inside the grassland. He then flickered again for few times in quick succession in order to confuse his companion, not that it would do him any good if the Senju sensor was as good as the history book painted him to be, but Shikamaru acquiesced the fact that he had at least made an effort to try. Now feeling a bit nauseous, Shikamaru came to a halt near his pseudo-farm, where he was greeted by the baleful stare and miserable moan of his cow.

Shikamaru stepped away from Tobirama and dragged him to his small cabin by his fingers instead. He gently ushered the boy to sit on the dining chair and told him to open his eyes. He could feel the Nidaime's eyes digging into his back as he stalled their impending conversation by serving two cups of fresh milk whilst he gathered his thoughts.

Tobirama nodded his head in thanks and took a sip from his cup, allowing Shikamaru to speak first. Shikamaru sat on the remaining chair and laced his fingers together. He started with an idle chit chat.

"How's Itama?"

"Grieving," Tobirama said, "but alive. I suppose we have you to thank for that."

The wordless '_How much do I owe you?_' almost made Shikamaru roll his eyes.

"Let me guess, you guys think I'm a mercenary?"

Tobirama blinked innocently.

"Figures," Shikamaru muttered under his breath. "I was simply passing by, if you must know. I heard sounds of fighting and decided to assist the losing side; nothing less, nothing more. I expect nothing in return."

Tobirama pushed a small, nondescript scroll into the center of the table, near the tips of Shikamaru's fingers. "Consider this a gift then, a token of gratitude for my brother's savior. Nothing less, nothing more"

Shikamaru grimaced. The boy wouldn't be so gracious if he had known how Shikamaru had played a hand in screwing his elder brother's life. Perhaps he _did_ know and was simply trying to kill him with his 'gift'.

"…Thank you, I suppose."

"I will also take a look at your security seal, if you would allow me. It appears to be an old model, but I am quite familiar with the glyphs and their inner workings. It would be a good practice for me."

Shikamaru shrugged. "Sure, whatever you want. I don't really have the money and the expertise to deal with it anyway."

Tobirama put down his cup. "Be that as it may, I have heard a few things from my acquaintance, things that you're capable of. Rumor has it you are quite gifted in the healing arts."

Shikamaru racked his brain for the identity of _anyone_ in this timeline that had ever seen him perform any medical feat. He could only come up with one. "Does this… acquaintance… happens to be one Uchiha Madara?"

Tobirama, in an instant, went from blank-faced into having the scandalous expression of a man who was caught in an affair by his sociopath wife who would gladly skin him and eat his flesh for dinner.

"It's not like that!" he said.

Shikamaru inwardly wondered what warranted such a fervent denial, it wasn't as if fraternizing with an Uchiha was a crime punishable by death.

"…okay," he said.

"Our meeting was a coincidence."

"If you say so…" Shikamaru quickly held up his hand to stop another rebuff, "Please, hear me out first. I _honestly_ don't care. Kill him, befriend him, whatever... It's none of my business. I don't want to know what you're up to, I'm simply asking for clarification."

Tobirama coughed awkwardly. "My apologies," he murmured. "But yes, you are correct."

"As I've thought," Shikamaru said.

"I'm aware that the final choice is ultimately yours, but whatever you do, please remember to always be careful. If you want to kill him, do it before he reaches his prime. Once you do, make sure that he stays dead and incinerate everything. _DO NOT_ leave any genetic material. If killing him is not feasible, then try to at least get on his good side and slowly destroy him from within. Best case scenario, he will succumb into despair and kill himself."

_From what I've read, it will not take much to push an Uchiha over the edge._

Shikamaru tightened his grip against his cup as he called forth a memory from a long time ago – a memory a thick tome filled with numerous researches, personally written by the boy that now sat before him.

As a Hokage, Shikamaru could access just about anything that was dumped inside the hidden storage in the Hokage's office, from the invaluable Scroll of Seals and the countless studies and paperwork done by his predecessors, to personal belongings such as the Sandaime's extensive collection of erotica, the Godaime's stock of expensive sakes, and the Yondaime's infamous three-pronged kunai. Shikamaru had never been more grateful for those sleepless nights when he decided to be productive and sort through his predecessors' junk. It appeared his insomnia had some merits other than just giving him a painful headache and double vision.

"The Uchiha," he continued, "particularly the powerful ones like _him_, have a rather… extreme response towards negative emotion. The anguish and despair that proceeds from experiencing loss causes their brains to release a special kind of chakra that affects their optic nerves..."

Tobirama nodded gravely. "Forming the Sharingan."

"Correct. Subsequent painful experiences may cause it to evolve, sometimes into the next level – the Mangekyō Sharingan – which are capable of massive destruction," Shikamaru muttered. "The Susanoo are the real stuff of nightmare, but I would be damned if I said that they weren't badass."

"Susanoo?"

"Uh-uh. _He with the ability to help by all means_. You'll see it if you live long enough to piss off the correct Uchiha."

The boy's red eyes darkened, though his lips were stretched into a wide smile. "Is that a threat?"

"Simply one of the possibilities," Shikamaru said. "Though young, your brother was an ace, and with time and the right training had a possibility to become the most powerful of us all. You too, have a potential to be great, Senju Tobirama; although… if you truly believe that you have what it takes to live up to Hashirama's legacy, you will not come here to rope me into helping you revive your brother, will you?"

Tobirama rested his chin against his knuckles, his brows furrowed into a genuine curiosity. "How is it that someone whom I never met could read my intention so well? Aren't you going to call me mad for wanting such preposterous and unnatural notion?"

Shikamaru held back a smile and contemplatively tapped his chin. "Hmm… How, I wonder? Perhaps I'm your kindhearted neighbor from the future."

The boy smirked. "Unlikely. My senses told me that it was because you're a Yamanaka, though you certainly feel more like a Nara."

"Ah, the joy of being a sensor…" Shikamaru lamented. "And no, no ideas are too ridiculous for me. The human mind is a fascinating thing that's capable of many great feats. Who am I to say that something is impossible when I haven't even tried? The only thing that makes something impossible is the fear of failure." Shikamaru had already had a lifetime of those, it didn't even bother him anymore.

Tobirama took another sip from his cup. "Does that mean you agree to help me then?"

"With one condition."

"Which is?"

"Be my student," Shikamaru said.

He did not know how strong the Nidaime was in his prime, but without Hashirama around, there were too many events that could be altered and there was a possibility Tobirama might not survive into adulthood. Someone had to keep Uchiha Madara in check and Tobirama was his best bet. Shikamaru could not watch over him all the time, but he could make sure that the boy was prepared to face everything.

Besides, he had to pass on Tsunade's knowledge to someone who could make a difference. The Shodaime's regenerative ability was a stuff of legend and Tsunade seemed to be the only one that had managed to achieve a similar feat. Tobirama would less likely die if he was able to heal himself. The least that he could do for indirectly causing Shodaime's untimely death was making sure that his remaining brothers survived adulthood.

Tobirama looked at him strangely. "I'm a bit worried by your eagerness to share your knowledge to a complete stranger, but sure, I'll be your student… I cannot promise to meet you frequently though, I have other responsibilities as well."

Shikamaru shrugged. "We can easily remedy that. Ever heard of Shadow Clone Technique?"

Tobirama stiffened. "Wait, that's my– How do you know about _THAT_?! Stop plucking things from my head without my permission! That's just rude. Besides, the technique is still in its premature stage and still isn't stable enough for practical use."

Shikamaru finished his milk in one go and straightened to his full height. "Then let's fix it. I'm free until sunset. You're a fast learner, aren't you? Come on, get up. There are many things that I want to teach you."

"Wait, now?"

"No, next year!" Shikamaru hollered from the front door. "Chop, chop. Don't make me sic Kaguya on you."

"_Who_?"

"My cow!"

* * *

They left town before dawn, trembling a little in the cold night air, clutching their cloaks to them.

"This shall be the place," said Tokubei.

They embraced in the forest clearing. Ohatsu pulled off her outer robe to reveal her finest kimono. Although she was no virgin, she was still a modest girl.

"Better get on with it, darling," she said. "Hurry up and kill me."

Tokubei stabbed out with his dagger and drove his knife deep into his lover's throat, twisting and pulling it free as her blood pulsed out. He dared not look in her eyes lest he saw regret.

"Let's draw our last breaths together," he said to her still-warm body.

He reversed the knife and drove it deep into his own throat so hard that the blade almost snapped. His head slumped, his eyes grew dim, and then nothing stirred in the forest clearing.

The lovers' bodies lie still on the stage, frozen in the moments of their final agonies.

There were sobs and sniffs from the audience as young girls dabbed at the tears on their cheeks.

_PFFT…_

Feigning a cough, Shikamaru tried to stifle his giggles.

"The performance is not up to your standard, good sir?"

Shikamaru glanced at his target, a finely dressed man in his forties. Gleaming gold rings decorated his chubby hands, which were missing its ring fingers.

He smiled. "My apology, I didn't mean to insult. I'm Asahi Abe. I came from the capital, you see, and I have heard so much about this city. To be honest, I was expecting something a little more… _daring_… Something befitting its reputation."

Otafuku City was the complete opposite of Shikamaru's current residence in every sense of words. Where Nichijō was the home of lowly peasants, Otafuku was the notorious nexus of pleasure quarters. Its rise to power was mainly due to its infamous theaters – rumor had it the performers were actually using their performances to advertise their sexual services, forming the largest chain of prostitution in the Land of Fire. Theater performance was becoming an entire subculture of entertainment and consumption, with it as the centerpiece for tea houses, taverns, and brothels.

The streets of Otafuku were lined by inns, hot springs, and many other entertainment venues. It was the place where one could find just about anything that money could buy – be it weapons, exotic animals, illicit drugs, and even slaves. Though not an industrialized society, the city was notably self-sufficient and thriving. The literacy was high, and popular culture was a vibrant whirl. The city contributed so much income that even Daimyō turned a blind eye to it. In other words, it was a perfect place to earn some cash.

Shikamaru had already dispersed his disguised clones around the town before visiting the theater, each equipped with handcrafted pipe sets – the kind that would remain popular among the rich even a hundred years later – with the objective of offering samples of his product towards patrons in the high-end district of the town. Normally, it would be hard to enter such establishments unless one had an exclusive membership, but a few bribes here and there could open doors everywhere. It would not be long before he finally had enough money to ensure the legitimacy of his ownership and officially make the land his.

Whilst his clones ensnared some customers, Shikamaru busied himself with making new acquaintances. His current target was a fairly wealthy merchant who also happened to be a well-known gambler and drinker – a good place to start for those who were looking for the nastier side of the city, as Shikamaru needed to acquire a number of items from the black market before he could exterminate Uchiha Tajima's merry band of sleeper agents. He absolutely refused to let the Nara, the Yamanaka, or the Akimichi get caught in the Uchiha-Senju feuds, and/or Kaguya and her shitshows. Removing Hitoshi Yamanaka's tie with the Uchiha patriarch was the first step towards realigning the timeline to be as identical as it could to its original condition.

Damn the Nidaime for giving him another thing to worry about.

"Well sir, if the theater does not really fit into your liking, perhaps you should visit our dancers instead. Quite an eccentric hipster, those are."

Shikamaru put on a look of disdain. "I bought one into my chamber last night – made me bored out of my mind. Absolutely no thrill."

The man smirked. "You are a hard man to please."

"Tell my wife about it," Shikamaru muttered. "I mean, what's the point of vacation if there's nothing exhilarating in it? I want to see savages! I want to see blood being spilled! What's life without a bit of danger anyway?"

The man laughed. "What a fated meeting. I am glad to find another man with similar, fine taste. Tell you what, why don't we get out of here? There's an establishment that could cater to your particular needs. It's just a few streets away."

"Lead the way, good sir."

True to the man's words, it did not take long for them to reach their destination. It was a fancy inn with red colored walls, bright lanterns, and a large entrance hall. His tour guide waved the three bulky men that were guarding its entrance, signifying his status as a regular. Inside, Shikamaru was greeted by an open courtyard with a square pagoda in the middle, where one of his clones was lounging on the tatami mat with other patrons, smoking opium whilst enjoying a dance performance.

Resisting the urge to facepalm, Shikamaru quietly followed his target further down the hallway, where they passed by a bar and a gambling area.

They came to a halt in front of a nondescript door, in its hinges were carved the characters that were usually found in silencing seals. Shikamaru steadied his feet into a battle ready position.

His target knocked the door on a specific pattern. A red-haired woman immediately slid open the door and bowed politely to them, her painted lips stretched into a big smile. Her eyes flickered towards Shikamaru before returning to the man before her. "Greetings, Nakamura-sama and his companion."

"Himari-chan, you're beautiful as always."

"Ah, you flatter me too much," she answered with a flirtatious giggle. "Come, you're just in time for the first match."

Shikamaru raised his eyebrow questioningly towards Nakamura.

"See it for yourself, Abe-san. And don't worry, tonight's fee is on me. I have a feeling that we're going to be the best of friends~"

* * *

Tobirama rubbed his wet hair with the fluffy – most likely stolen – towel that his host had lent him and let out a pleased noise. The droplets of cold water that dribbled down his neck was nothing short of sublime. He put on his spare clothes and hung the wet towel along with his washed clothes on a nearby tree branch.

Tobirama walked back into the cabin, carrying his rucksack with one hand and a freshly caught fish with the other one. He smiled politely towards a clone that was engaged in a heated match of shōgi with his teacher's clone, not at all minding the harsh glare of the afternoon sun, not that it paid him any heed either since it was pouring nearly all of its attention towards the latter's economic lecture.

The girl could make just about any boring topics interesting, using relatable examples to make sure he understood the core concepts and then discussing real life cases in which they could be applied and asking him how he would improve the original concepts. She encouraged him to draw conclusions from evidence and reasoning rather than making him memorize explicit statements, stimulating parts of his knowledge that were not mentioned in the information presented to him and adding those inferences to his own understanding. All in all, she overturned his initial expectations and provided him with a very fulfilling learning experience. She _really_ was a good teacher.

Tobirama glanced around the modest kitchen, searching for the correct apparatus, and then prepped the fish and cooked it until it was nicely brown. He then added a sauce that he had brought from his own house and steamed the fish with a precise combination of water and fire technique before serving it on a plate with some stewed vegetables. He let the dishes cool down for a few minutes before taking a tentative bite on the fish, savoring its soft texture and taste, marveling at the sauce that was both sweet and spicy.

A clone came through the door, carrying a container full of sticky brown paste in its waist. He greeted it with a polite nod. The other day his teacher had instructed him to identify the plants that grew in the valley and their properties – their textures, smells, and tastes; could they kill or could they be used as medicines – and a particular plant caught his attention the most. Amazed by how knowledgeable and brilliant she was, Tobirama often forgot that his teacher was a penniless opium farmer.

It had been a little more than a week since she took him under his tutelage and all that he had done to repay her was fixing the protection seal – which honestly did not count as a job at all because he thoroughly enjoyed tweaking and improving it. He made a mental note to bring her some food during his next visit; she was a growing girl, after all. With the resources that he had, it would just be plain embarrassing if his teacher were to die from something as ridiculous as malnutrition.

Speaking of his teacher… he turned towards the clone. "Ano… do you happen to know what sensei is doing downstairs?"

It paused in front of the metal trapdoor that Nara-san had explicitly forbidden him from entering, a door which led into her personal underground lodging.

The clone tilted its head. "I think Boss is preparing a cadaver for your next lesson."

Tobirama sat up straighter. "Really?"

So far, what they had been doing was covering the basis of medical techniques and other supplementary topics that were deemed important for him to learn. He was also given sets of training regiments to improve his speed, agility, coordination, and chakra control. She refused to bulge when it came to chakra control, it had to be _perfect_, which was a difficult thing to achieve for someone with his chakra reserves.

Thankfully, his clones were there to provide him with feedback and make his training more efficient. His chakra control was now by no means perfect, but it had definitely improved considerably from his previously advanced level. With improved chakra control, his ninjutsu and genjutsu had also improved by leaps and bounds, becoming more potent and requiring less chakra.

Tobirama was excited to hear that he would soon progress into the next step of his training, since most of his medical knowledge only covered the administration of emergency first aid. His clan wanted him to be a formidable warrior, not a healer, which in hindsight was a bit silly because the combination of the two could make someone virtually untouchable in battlefields. _This way_, he thought, _this way_ _I can protect Itama better_.

As if sensing his excitement, faint sounds of mechanical whirring resonated through the kitchen and the trapdoor was pushed open. Black locks that were haphazardly tied into a messy bun appeared first, followed by his teacher's bruised, bored face. Her yukata was worn loosely, showing her bandaged shoulder and arm. Her eyes roamed the room, skipping past him and settling onto his food.

Tobirama pushed the plate away as a silent offering.

She murmured a quick thanks before diving into the food.

"So…" Tobirama trailed off, noting another bandage on her ankle, "you got into a fight?"

"_Fights_, on underground cage fights. It was easy money. I simply bet on myself. People _love_ the underdog. Just don't forget to get hit once or twice for extra drama."

Tobirama frowned. That was… unexpected. The girl was not the type of person that was easy to read, but considering her generosity towards him, money did not seem to be the thing that made her tick. Her unclear motivation made him unsure on how to behave appropriately and appeal to her good side. Other people were a lot more transparent and easier to understand. Madara, for example, was like Hashirama in a way – both had a dream of everlasting peace and were fiercely protective of their siblings – if a lot more hostile and a lot less naive. Madara also loved his brother… perhaps a bit _too_ much, thus it was easy to appeal to his good side by taking the role of a pitiful child who had just lost his older brother, even if in reality Tobirama would like nothing more than to carve the flesh of him and his brethren inside out and then fed them to pigs. The girl on the other hand… she did not want anything from him, she simply wanted him to be safe. What kind of subterfuge relied on such selflessness?

"Do you really need money that much?" he asked. "I can lend you money if you want… You can return them later."

As expected, she simply smiled. "No, thanks. I'm good."

Tobirama stared.

She must have seen something pitiful on his face because she then shrugged off the sleeve of her bandaged side, deftly switched the chopsticks into her left hand, and said, "Here, heal me. You've only practiced with animals, don't you? Describe what you find and what you're doing."

Happy that he could be of some use, Tobirama quickly retrieved a thin blade from his utility pouch and washed his hands with a bar of soap. He cleaned the knife with alcohol and then gently peeled the bandage off of her shoulder.

"A ten centimeters gash. The closure incorporates eight simple interrupted sutures and one vertical mattress at the center of the wound. The closure is done using… chakra threads?"

"Correct," she said. "How do you proceed then? Do you have other alternatives?"

Tobirama pursed his lips, the blade was useless. "I will have to cut the threads first… I can use my blade to cut the threads if I enhance it with wind chakra, but with my current skill it will be too risky, thus I'll use Chakra Scalpel instead. I will then assess the depth of the wound to estimate the amount of chakra required to heal the wound using Mystical Palm Technique. However, considering its size, leaving it to heal naturally will not be a problem either."

"You're mostly correct, but since I am conscious, it will be better if I remove the threads on my own. It will lessen the risk of unintentional injury due to Chakra Scalpel."

Tobirama nodded. "Understood."

"Very well. You may now proceed."

"Hai."

Once the threads disappeared, Tobirama quickly assessed the condition of the wound before knitting the skin together with Mystical Palm Technique, pumping an appropriate amount of chakra to accelerate the skin's natural healing, leaving an unblemished skin in its wake. With Nara-san's approval, he then went to heal the deeper gash on her arm and ankle. By the time he was done, she had already finished eating and was looking thoughtfully at him.

Tobirama eyes her expectantly. "Well… what's my verdict?"

She hummed. "Your end results are quite good for superficial injuries. As you can see, there's no scaring. Next time we shall practice on muscle and neural damages, which require finer control. Your chakra control has also improved, so keep up the good work."

Tobirama grinned. "Thank you. So what are we going to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I want to see your nature transformation and see what we can improve from there. But…" She folded her arms, seemingly weighing her options. "You know what, let's discuss an S-rank fūinjutsu instead. I initially decided to introduce it to you after you have perfected your chakra control, but I think it will serve as a great motivator."

Tobirama leaned closer, already hooked. "Go on."

Nara-san rested her chin against her folded hands, oozing an aura of mystery, which were ruined by her ridiculous face. "Rumor has it the technique dated back from the Sage of Six Paths era; reputed to be the pinnacle of chakra control–"

"You just _love_ to snub at my chakra control, don't you–"

"Hush, my Padawan–"

"Your what?"

"It's a comic book reference about space pirate–"

"_What_?"

The girl shoved a drawing of sealing arrays into his hand, effectively silencing him. Tobirama roamed his eyes over the paper, cataloging each stroke – how it contributed to the strength of the seal, and whether it could be replaced with different characters. Looking at the seal, Tobirama was suddenly struck by an idea to use the seal power to open up a dimensional void for a space-time technique.

"By storing a vast amount of chakra over an extended period of time into a specific point on their body, the user creates this seal, which manifests in the form of a rhombus-like marking. When released, the stored chakra will be released into the user's body, not only greatly amplifying the power of their techniques, but also allowing them to perform techniques without any wasted energy. It is known as–"

"The Strength of a Hundred Seal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, someone cracked a joke that played upon Izumo no Okuni’s eccentric nature. Her performances, it was said, were kabuki—a pun on their eccentricity, but also on ka-bu-ki, the words for song, dance, and prostitute.


	12. A Little Life: One-shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm not the most ideal person to carry this burden, but the thought of every single one of you always keeps me going. It might take me more than a lifetime, but I will give you the Konoha that is worth living for. I'm not going to run away and I won't give up, but sometimes I do make tactical retreats because that's my ninja way! Please lend me your strength!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lost the file of my chapter 12. In my grief (and due to a dare, lol) I ended up writing this instead. I hope you guys like it as well.
> 
> Set 19 years after Shikamaru's transmigration.
> 
> A parody, of sort, if everyone were softer. Featuring always-a-female Shikamaru.

**Hokage's Office**

"Forget whatever it is that you are thinking." Shikamaru's firm voice broke Tobirama out of his reverie.

Tobirama turned his head. "Pardon?"

Shikamaru glanced at Tobirama from the corner of her eyes, eyeing the taut muscles of his shoulder for a moment, and slowly put her finished paperwork on her, well his, desk before grabbing a stack of unchecked sheets on her left, one that contained a treaty draft for her upcoming diplomatic mission.

"When you're being quiet, it's usually either because you're plotting or worrying about something. Judging from your muscle tension, it's the latter." Shikamaru admitted. "That, and the fact that you've been standing there for a good five minutes, staring at me."

Tobirama grimaced. "We need to talk."

Shikamaru stared at him. Her eyes were impassive, as always, showing neither pity nor understanding. "We are talking."

The man crossed his arms. "Kami, could you please not—"

"What now? Have I misspoken, perhaps used an ambiguously hostile inflections or shown improper conduct? Did I breathe too loud?" Shikamaru closed her eyes and sighed in self-disgust. "No, I apologize, that was petty of me. Just… tell me how I may help you, Hokage-sama?"

"Shika, are you alright?" Tobirama asked, his tone was light and nonchalant — a perfect imitation of an innocent question — but the question itself carried a lot of baggage, baggage that Shikamaru would prefer to ignore.

Was she alright? Let's see, currently she had to handle Konoha — a young village, still in its infancy, it would take at least another five years before she would consider it to be stable; she had to watch over Madara, paying attention to his ever-changing moods and signs of diminishing patriotism; she had to train the newly formed bureaucrats to handle taxes, homeland security, immigration, foreign affairs, education, and the implementation of public policies; she had to stabilize and maintain the village's power balance and handle the lobbying and public relation and make sure nobody fucked up their jobs, and that included Tobirama. Everything he doubled-checked, she triple-checked it. Her former disciple was a competent man, sure, but old habits die hard.

All in all, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yes, Hokage-sama. Have I done anything that might indicate otherwise?"

"You've lost weight," the man blurted out.

It was nothing that could not be easily remedied. She did feel somewhat debilitated but she was still conscious and breathing; ergo, work. "I'll gain them back. Anything else?"

"Are we really going to ignore the elephant in the room?"

Shikamaru paused her scribbling. "If you are insinuating that my weight loss has anything to do with your upcoming nuptials then I would seriously hurt you, consequences be damned, Hokage-sama."

Tobirama gripped his hair — a gesture that Shikamaru remembered he used to exhibit when he was still a child during a particularly stressful situation. He then started pacing around, as if he wanted nothing more than to leave her presence, before deciding against it at the last minute and laid down on the couch instead, with his hand obscuring his eyes.

"Shikamaru, you are… a bold and stubborn person, very strict and imperative. You have a pragmatic approach to life and will not be hindered by emotion or petty notions in making your decision. You're so… _good_ at everything and I love that about you."

Shikamaru braced herself for the oncoming 'but' and circled a typographical error on the paper.

"You don't show it outwardly, but the constant anxiety and the need to be in control are eating you alive. At this rate you will actually die of worry and burn yourself out, and then you won't be able to perform at your best, which I am well aware just how much you hate. You need to stop worrying about every little thing before they take control of your emotions and thoughts. It's unhealthy, Shikamaru."

Shikamaru heaved a sigh and walked towards her lo— friend, no, leader, whatever. She nudged his knee aside and sat at the edge of the seat. Comforting heat radiated off of him and Shikamaru couldn't help but shift closer.

"These last two years have been quite hectic and we haven't really seen each other... informally, at least. I was, _am_ busy and so many things were happening in such a short amount of time and then that stuff with the Uzumaki and then you… you left me… and although I promise that nothing will change, I become even more cold and emotionally distant and I…"

_I love you, you stupid, stupid man._

Shikamaru squeezed the edge of the couch, wondering why she could never be enough.

"I don't know what you expect of me, but if you are worried for me, don't be. I know I don't seem like much, but damn it you troublesome man, I'm not stupid enough to work myself to death. Who's going to help you deal with all of this mess if I'm not around? You are my friend, Tobirama, _always_, and nothing will ever change that. Stop worrying about me, will you? It won't help me and it certainly won't help you. You have a new life ahead of you, so don't waste your time by thinking about me." Shikamaru said bluntly.

By the end of Shikamaru's admission, Tobirama's eyes had widened considerably. Hurt, relief, but also undeniable longing were reflected on his red eyes.

Tobirama sat up on the couch and tentatively, his hand reached out for hers. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. It was smudged and calloused and so… cold, but alive and definitely _hers_. "I hurt you... Can we truly be friends again, Shika?"

Could they remain together, day after day, bound not by sex or physical attraction or property, but only by the shared agreement to keep going, by their mutual dedication to this… _bond_ that could never be defined. He wanted to witness her hour of grief and bereavement, her bouts of boredom, her well-deserved triumphs. He wanted the privilege of being present during her lowest moments, knowing that she would also be there for him in return. He wanted to constantly be in her presence, even if it meant just basking in her silence, watching her as she worked, napped or gazed into the sky, watching the clouds drifted by.

Shikamaru stared blankly at Tobirama, not sure why the man was asking something that had already been obvious.

Sure, the people he had grown to trust might someday betray him somehow, and he would also betray someone else in return. As disappointing as it might be, it was inevitable. But life would keep pushing him forward, because for everyone who might fail him in some way, there was at least one person who never would, and Shikamaru vowed she would be that person.

Using her free hand, Shikamaru brushed the man's stray hair, so soft under her fingers. Her hand lingered for a moment over the rhombus mark on his forehead, and she gently poked it.

"Always," she promised. "It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong, in this life or the next one, you're stuck with me, Senju."

Tobirama stared back at Shikamaru. Smiling, hopeless in the face of her unwavering kindness. In the back of his mind he thought he must've looked stupid, but... Feeling impulsive, Tobirama wrapped his arms around her middle and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Your ribs are poking out."

Shikamaru's lips contorted into a smirk.

"Honestly, I would rather nap than eat. It's so troublesome. I mean, you have to put it in your mouth, chew it, swallow it and digest it and then shit it back again. So much work, don't you think?"

Tobirama rolled his eyes in amusement, but even he could not stop the upturned corner of his lips.

"Only you, Shika. Only you."

"I'm one of a kind, _duh_."

"You are." He pressed a fleeting kiss against her neck, breathing in her familiar scent. "I miss you so much."

He could feel the woman sighed.

"Friends don't do this, Hokage-sama."

There she was, distancing and masking herself behind etiquette and honorifics. Again.

"Nobody has to know," he whispered.

Knowing that he would be haunted by the '_what ifs_' if he didn't at least try, Tobirama leaned closer and hovered, waiting for Shikamaru to walk away, to tell him to stop.

He looked into her unreadable eyes — because even after all these years he could never tell what she was thinking — and closed the distance between them. It was just a peck on the lips, but the look in his eyes revealed all his want and need and fear.

Shikamaru pressed their foreheads together and caressed his warm cheeks, she couldn't help it. She traced his lips with her thumb. Tobirama closed his eyes, waiting, hoping. She traced his sharp jawline, tucking his slightly disheveled hair to its proper places — combing it exactly like how he liked it, before descending to his taut neck. Under her fingers, the Hokage held his breath, waiting.

Waiting.

Yet nothing happened.

_A strong shinobi doesn't give in to temptation, no matter how easy and willing it is._

Shikamaru pursed her lips together.

This would be for the best.

She hugged him close, committing his form, his warmth, his scent into her memory, and kissed his forehead — _for one last time_, she told herself — before standing up, whispering,

"I'm sorry, Hokage-sama. I can't."

* * *

**September 22nd**

Today was Konoha's first official festival with all of its future clans integrated. The Kohaku Clan's leader was the last to sign the peace treaty, brokered by Shikamaru as the head of Konoha's delegation.

_One less thing to worry about._

In every shinobi village, festivals were held rarely, if ever, but when they did they were just as lively as those held in the capitals, if not more. Paper lanterns decorated every road and corner. Everyone wore colourful kimono and yukata instead of their everyday dull shinobi uniform. The women, especially, donned their best attire and put their hair into beautiful, but still practical, styles or updo, much to the joy of those who praised Konoha's women's modest, authentic beauty.

And that included Shikamaru, much to her companion's chagrin.

Madara elbowed the woman. "Oi, stop behaving like such a damn pervert. It's unbecoming of you, _Counsellor-sama_."

Shikamaru grabbed the offending appendage and linked their arms together; waving at a group of young, blushing chūnin while she's at it. "I'm not giving them inappropriate looks, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just admiring those gorgeous fabrics. I mean, I'm pretty gifted at sewing, maybe I should try my luck as a professional seamstress."

Not that she would actually do the sewing herself. Why would she burden herself with menial tasks when she could slave her clones instead?

_Thanks, Tobirama._

"Seamstress…" the man grumbled. "Last week you wanted to be a baker, and a blacksmith the week before that. What's this? A midlife crisis?"

"Well, you can't deny that everyone is dressed nicely for the occasion. Even _you _look positively dazzling, Madara-san."

Understandably so, they were not only dressed for the festival, they were also celebrating their Hokage and the Uzumaki's princess' union. Both of their families chose an already festive occasion so not to draw attention, not that it really worked. Security was at an all time high and the whines and moans of those unfortunate enough to lose the lottery and stuck in guard duty were loud enough to be heard all the way into heaven, much to Shikamaru's amusement.

"Flattery will get you nowhere and it certainly won't ever get you out of guard duty. Not on my watch, Nara."

A feminine laughter filled the air.

"I'm serious though, for once you don't actually look like a grumpy cat, ah no, grumpy hedgehog." Shikamaru deftly avoided a kick aimed at her shin. "Those red embroideries on your sleeves are classy, but modest. The ribbon on your nape makes you look more friendly and the haori is a really nice touch. I wonder who's the lucky person that dressed you up. They must've been very stylish."

Madara harrumphed. "These articles of clothing are… adequate."

Shikamaru coughed. "Sophisticated."

"Barely passable."

"_Debonair_, Uchiha-sama."

"Tch, utterly unexceptional. Not enough to be an embarrassment, but not something that really stands out either."

The black-haired woman gaped. "Ouch, Madara-san. _Ouch_."

"If it's any consolation, I do not detest it. It couldn't be uglier than whatever the Senju wear."

"I've constructed formal attire for the groom, so he shouldn't be wearing that hideous green kimono and yellow haori." Shikamaru smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "At least I hope so. Kami knows his family has little to no fashion sense. Mito-san deserves the best on her wedding day."

Madara sighed, sensing the changing mood. "You don't have to force yourself to go, you know."

"But I _do_. Why do you think I even bother with dolling you up when you're more violent and troublesome than Tori the Cat?"

In addition to patrolling the area, visibly or in hiding, a few guards — namely those with higher ranks — were tasked to take part in social events, to keep a closer eye on the guests and to make sure that there was no international incident. Madara Uchiha, in particular, had a fearsome and infamous reputation. His attendance in meetings and social gatherings usually made their guests be more amenable to… behave.

"Because you're a horrible ex?" Madara deadpanned.

Shikamaru glared at the jab, her fingers twitched as she resisted the urge to choke the man.

"Ha, ha, very funny, Uchiha. The Fire Daimyō sent an envoy _and _his wife, as did those newly formed hidden villages. We are their primary example in the implementation of the shinobi village system, thus we need to appear strong and united, absolutely no dissension in the ranks, _now _more than ever. We need to show everyone that we are not simply impending the inevitable, that this village _will _work, and that we are 100% committed to everlasting peace."

"You don't need to worry too much. We have competent shinobi guarding the parameters. Konoha is not going to implode just because you have fun for one night." Madara nudged her side. "You need to put more faith in your comrades, Nara."

Shikamaru felt her brows rose, and slowly smiled. "Those therapy sessions really work, huh? Told ya, they would be good for you."

"It's not like I have that much choice since you make counseling a mandatory program. But they are… alright, I suppose. Help me to process things with healthier mechanisms. I didn't realize how much I was hurting."

"That's good." The woman nodded, her gaze faraway. "Really good. You don't want to know half of the things that I have to do to push that program into a law."

Madara snorted, having heard tales of his friend's unorthodox, oftentimes unbelievable, lobbying methods.

"I understand that it's a foreign concept, but… I think we all need to talk to someone. The Warring States period left big scars on all of us. We have killed brothers, fathers, sisters, families… of what now become our neighbors. There's bad blood between all of us and if we want to make this village work, we all need to learn to forgive. More than that… I also want to foster inter-clans friendships, for everyone to find another person who makes their world seem a little less lonely."

Madara stole a glance at the woman. Her shoulder-length hair was down today, the bangs pulled into a simple, tied-back style, making her look older and dignified. Her dark, sharp eyes were unreadable, hiding her thoughts and feelings. She was oddly terrifying, but also so… distant at the same time.

"I don't think anyone ever gives you enough credit, Shikari-san. When they see this village, they see Tobirama and his visions, sometimes me, but rarely you, even though you are the one that works yourself to the bone. It should have been you that lead this village. You are logical, impartial, but surprisingly kind. You are... worthy."

Shikamaru laughed, genuinely amused. "I'm flattered that you hold me with such a high regard, Madara-san, but I'm afraid I would have to disappoint. I might preach about a grand, marvelous plan for the future, but deep down I am simply living off of someone else's dream."

Madara tilted his head curiously.

"I dedicated myself to this cause, every second of my life, because I couldn't bring myself to look away, because I feel accountable towards those that have passed before me. I thought that if I tried hard enough, someday I would be able to absolve myself of this guilt. Sometimes I just want to slit my throat and die. Other times I wish I would sleep forever and never wake up again."

Shikamaru paused.

"But dying... dying is always easy, it's staying alive that is so damn hard. I want to experience the results of our hard work too. I want to see this dream becoming reality." The woman shrugged, and under the full moon she looked almost… tranquil. "Perhaps then I would finally be at peace with myself."

_Be at peace for being the only one who survives._

Madara stared into the distance as her words invoked a memory from a long time ago, a memory of their first meeting. Him, a naive boy with a dream; her, a jaded, cynical soldier.

_I want peace, and I know that deep down they want it too. They just don't want to be disappointed._

_That's why you are here. To change our mind, to convince us that peace isn't just a fool's dream. To show us that there's another way to live – that we too, deserve happiness._

Tentatively, the Uchiha wrapped his arm around the woman's shoulders. The grip was light, compassionate, but no less reassuring.

"Shikari-san, just a quick reminder, if a politician's career ever tires you, I'm always willing to take you in as an apprentice. I know a place high up in the mountain, with vast grassland and aquifers. It's very relaxing."

Shikamaru groaned. "Your apprentice? Imagine the _sheer _amount of workload. Being unremarkable suits me just fine, thank you. And please tell me you were not referring to Mountain's Graveyard, the no man's land located in the north-most region near the Land of Waterfall…?"

"Lazy bastard," Madara muttered fondly, his mismatched eyes filled with mirth. "And it's a perfectly acceptable place, mind you! If slightly… eccentric. Those who say otherwise are simply unable to appreciate its unique aesthetic."

The time-traveler squeezed the hand on her shoulder and deadpanned, "Exactly. I'm too old and not drunk enough to destroy priceless fossils and a possible paleontology site just because I hate my life and/or experiencing extreme boredom, and neither should you."

"Too old, she said. Not drunk enough, she said," he mocked. "What are you, fourteen?"

Shikamaru rolled her eyes. "Excuse you, I'm turning nineteen today. I'm practically ancient by our standard."

"Would you look at that, they actually get married on your birthday. No wonder you're so prissy today. I've always known that Senju and his kin are a right bastard. You ought to find better companies, Nara."

"Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not actually fragile and _am _doing better than ever, Uchiha. On another note, no hate speech is allowed today. I implore you, Madara-san, just pretend that you're going to your father's wedding."

"I already did that _twice_, if you must know. The first time was while I was in my mother's womb. Actually, I also slept through the second one." He heard the woman snort. "Weddings are overrated anyway."

Shikamaru nodded sagely. "True that, Madara-san. The only good thing about weddings are the free food and alcohol."

Madara halted his steps. Shikamaru followed suit.

They shared a look.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Nara?"

Shikamaru blinked innocently.

"Once we have greeted and spied on all the guests and delegations, I don't see any reason why we couldn't simply leave our clones and… misplace a few jugs of sake. I'm sure nobody would miss them."

Madara hummed. "True. We could invite along those who are also stuck on guard duties. Once they've finished their shifts, of course."

"We can add a couple musicians—"

"Some fireworks—"

"Roasted meat—"

"And pipes. Never forget the pipes—"

"Then we'll have one hell of a party."

They both smirked, and slowly grinned.

* * *

As it was, being the person that brokered almost all of the village's contracts and agreements had made Shikamaru become one of the most highly searched women during social gatherings, and the Hokage's wedding is no different. Everyone and their mother have their own special interests to get across, and Shikamaru was their go-to person.

Madara, the traitor, had secured and escaped with their objectives — namely food, booze, and a couple smoking pipes that she had pickpocketed from the Daimyō's envoy — leaving a clone to keep the guests in check in his stead.

Shikamaru, on the other hand, had not been able to find an opportunity to escape because Tobirama, the bastard, kept on sending people on her way, and they all offered her a drink. Not that it was a bad thing. Drunk Shikamaru was a charming and suave woman, and she managed to secure a few deals and meetings along the night.

That was almost two hours ago.

Shikamaru had left the feast after paying homage to the new couple. She had given them both a matching tantō blade, a private joke on her part since they both had a matching byakugō seal. Tobirama then, whom she had not seen in person for two weeks, decked in her clone-sewn clothes, had given her a seated saikeirei, a deeply reverent bow to convey profound respect or regret, and Mito-san had followed suit, drawing attention to Shikamaru, as the bow was almost entirely reserved for dramatic apologies or audiences with their nonexistent emperor. The Hokage wouldn't even bow to the Daimyō or his in-laws, but here he was, bowing to her.

And Shikamaru was… she was oddly touched.

Before her unwanted feelings could resurface, she had given them both a respectful nod and walked away. Not wanting to be disturbed by anyone, Shikamaru had ducked into a corner and took brisk steps outside before flickering out of sight. She then continued walking aimlessly, just as long she didn't crash into a tree or some random buildings. She even suppressed her chakra for extra measure.

There.

They wouldn't know where she was. They wouldn't follow her. She was out of sight.

That was all that mattered.

Inebriated, Shikamaru followed the sounds of nature, the hooting of owls and the rushing of a river nearby. Unlike the center of the village, there were no lanterns and no people to be seen.

It was colder too.

In the back of her mind, Shikamaru was vaguely aware of the extent of her drunkness. Her hands shook ever so slightly and her feet tingled. Her vision was disfigured, as if she were looking through a fish-eye lens.

Shikamaru continued to hobble forward, getting closer to the edge of the river.

She was so removed from reality that she didn't realize that she was crying, she wasn't even sure why, or why she was relieving details from moments long gone.

Temari…

_You're strange, such unexpected fragility. Sacrifice is inevitable, you crybaby._

Ino…

_It's not a matter of can or can't, Shikamaru. I'm doing it!_

Chōji…

_I hereby swear that, in order to protect both the Yamanaka and the Nara clans and to protect Konoha, I, Chōji Akimichi, will now come forth from my chrysalis and as a butterfly — spread my wings!_

Her father… Shikaku.

_We do what we have to do until the end, it's our last job. If your companions are really important to you… before you think about running away, consider that you may become greater for the sake of your friends!_

_Legends from the distant past are always exaggerated, but eventually, someone outdoes them… that's when new legends are born!_

Her teacher… Asuma.

_Shikamaru, you're so smart and have great sense as a shinobi. You could definitely become Hokage. But… you're too lazy. You'd probably hate it. I never even beat you once at shōgi... Ah, yes… Remember our talk about the King?_

_The Kings are the unborn children who will grow up to take care of the leaf. Take care of my King, Shikamaru…_

And of course, Naruto...

_Changing the things before us, a little by little, even one thing at a time, will make the world a better place. I want Konohagakure to be a place where people smile and enjoy their lives. Will you lend me your strength? Let's change Konohagakure together!_

Shikamaru collapsed at the edge of the ravine and cried harder, her chest growing tight as bile rose in her throat.

And she cried and cried, cried for everything she had been, for everything she might have been, for every joy and tears, for every shame and insecurities, for every hardship, failure and achievement, for the privilege of knowing and loving her comrades, for the luxury of kindness and forgiveness, and at last for the reassurance that despite all of her mistakes and hatefulness, she was still entrusted with everyone's dreams.

"Father, Mother, Chōji, Ino, Asuma-sensei… everyone… It's been nineteen years since we've parted. I haven't really done much, but I promise I will keep on making progress. Ino, I dated the Nidaime and got dumped, but that's alright, we can still scratch 'dating a Kage' from your bucket-list. The bad news is I might actually become the next Hokage, so don't laugh at me, Asuma. For some reason I've grown to enjoy paperwork now, it's oddly relaxing. Maybe because it's repetitive… Don't tell anyone, Father. I don't want them to give me even more troublesome jobs.

"I've also grown stronger, Chōji, not that it matters much when there's someone like Madara around, but I will do my best to protect the Nara, Yamanaka, Akimichi and Konoha for you until you are born. It's funny how I've become so busy these days, sometimes I almost forget to take care of myself. I'm sorry I don't eat regularly, Mother. I will forever miss your cooking.

"As for everyone… I know I'm not the most ideal person to carry this burden, but the thought of every single one of you always keeps me going. It might take me more than a lifetime, but I will give you the Konoha that is worth living for. I'm not going to run away and I won't give up, but sometimes I do make tactical retreats because that's my ninja way! Please lend me your strength!"

At that moment, from somewhere in the distance, bright arrows suddenly pierced the night sky before crackling and exploding outwards into its doom, erupting into loud blasts and spewing myriads of colors that vaguely resembled the kanji of number nineteen.

_Happy fortieth birthday, ye old bastard._

Shikamaru wiped her tears away, giggling despite everything. "Took you long enough, Madara-san."

Now that she was more sober, Shikamaru quickly dusted the dirt off of herself before heading towards her gathering comrades.

It took her quite a while to get there, the alcohol still buzzing in her blood, but when she finally got there the first thing that greeted her was a hypnotising bonfire at the middle of the training ground, followed by sounds of laughter and fragrance of delicious meat being cooked into perfection.

Shikamaru felt herself salivating. Her stomach quickly rumbled its assent.

"Hungry?"

She turned around and came face to face with a bouquet of sunflowers. Her favorite.

Tobirama smiled sheepishly. "Happy birthday, Shika."

She grinned. "Thank you." Shikamaru leaned up to kiss him out of habit, then cringed a second later. "Wait, I am _so _sorry, Hokage-sama."

As if sensing an oncoming drama, Madara suddenly appeared with a plate of roasted fish _and _one of her stolen pipes. She quickly snatched the latter and pushed Tobirama to stand between them.

"I see that getting older has not made you any less of an asshole, Shikari-san," he drawled. "And Senju... why are you here? Aren't you supposed to consummate your marriage or at least try to fake it or something? Since you obviously cannot get it up."

Shikamaru took a long drag from the pipe.

"Are you seriously looking for a fight right now, Uchiha? In the middle of a night?"

"Opium." _High quality_, she thought. "Do you want some, Hokage-sama?"

Madara waggled his brows. "Yes. Do you want _some_, Hokage-sama?"

Tobirama scowled. "My sexual life is none of your concern, Uchiha."

"As if you could ever get any," Madara rebutted.

Shikamaru nibbled a bite from her friend's plate. "Get a room, you two."

The Uchiha looked triumphant. "Ha, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Nara? I've always known that you're a perv."

Tobirama shifted closer to Shikamaru. "Go away, you weirdo."

"What's that, Senju? You hate me? I thought a Hokage is not supposed to discriminate against any of his subjects."

"Stop twisting my words, you manchild_—_"

"Madam counsellor, I would like to report the Hokage for his deliberate use of hate speech_—_"

"Here we go again…" Shikamaru muttered.


	13. A Priestess a Day Keeps the Uchiha Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The priestess stood with her back on him. A blue cloth hovered behind her and covered her arms, its end splitting and elongating into six sharp blades that dripped with foul smelling blood.
> 
> Shikamaru gave Madara a genuine smile.
> 
>   
a.k.a. the missing chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: The Wandering Miko

**Land of Fire, Nara Valley**

Meditation was the worst.

Nara-san had announced in the third week of her tutelage that henceforth Tobirama would spend an hour each day meditating with her. The Senju half hoped that she would forget this stipulation, the same way she occasionally forgot his existence or what his name was. But of all the things the girl made him do, she chose this one to observe faithfully.

“You will sit still for one hour, every morning, on the river, without exception.”

He did. He hated it.

“Empty your mind. Feel your spine elongates. Spread your chakra outward, focus on the energy around you. Be one with nature.”

Tobirama resisted the urge to doze and did as instructed. His master’s hum, so quiet and soothing, was slowly putting him to sleep.

An insect flew past by him, making the spot above his left eyebrow twitched. He knew that Nara-san would poke his sides with a stick if he scratched it, thus Tobirama raised his brow as high as it could go instead. The itching intensified.

“Sit still,” she said.

“My back hurts,” he complained. “I think it’s cramped from sparring.”

“Then sit straighter.”

Five minutes passed in silence and Tobirama was painfully bored. Meditation felt like a massive waste of time. It felt wrong to be sitting so still, to have nothing occupying his mind when he could have used his time to do something productive instead. He shifted his weight from one butt cheek to the other, sloshing water onto his pants. 

Tobirama peeked one eye open and found Nara-san staring directly back at him.

“Sit. _ Still _.”

He swallowed his protest and obeyed.

Unlike him, Nara-san was able to meditate indefinitely. She became like a statue, serene and tranquil. Her hands were pressed together on her lap, forming a circle. She almost seemed like air, like she might actually fade away if Tobirama didn’t concentrate enough on her.

Another five minutes passed and Tobirama felt a slight disturbance on his master’s chakra. There was something gathering inside her, foreign entity that felt like the energy that floated in the ether, one that he was able to _ feel _but could not quite grasp. The one he sensed right now was definitely more tangible. It trickled bit by bit into her coils, harmonizing with her chakra.

Minutes ticked by and the energy slowly grew in quantity. Beads of perspiration gathered on the girl’s temple and her hand shook ever so slightly. Slowly, she exhaled and the foreign energy was expelled along with her breath.

Tobirama tilted his head, fascinated. “Shishou, was that senjutsu?”

There were stories passed down on the Senju Clan, told to the young to send them to sleep, about ninja arts practitioners known as sages. Those who have gained immortality and incredible powers through the manipulation of natural energy, enabling them to draw and blend it with their own chakra, adding a new dimension of power to their techniques and allowing them to do things that would not otherwise be possible. Tobirama wondered just how much of those lore were real.

The girl leaned back against her palms, her fine chakra control was keeping her suspended above water.

“Correct. Natural energy circulates all throughout the world, but it is usually imperceptible. Even _ you _barely notice it, and you’re such an excellent sensor to boot.

"In order to use senjutsu, you must first learn to sense the natural energy in your surroundings and draw it into your body, basically becoming 'one with nature', which is done by remaining perfectly still. Once you balance your physical and spiritual energies with natural energy, you will have senjutsu chakra. Be warned though, If too little natural energy is added to the mix, then senjutsu cannot be used, but absorbing too much will result in the user turning into stone.”

Tobirama leaned closer. “Are you on your way to becoming a sage then?”

The girl snorted. “Not even close, and probably never would. I might be able to sense it now, perhaps even absorb a small amount of natural energy, but senjutsu can only be used by those who already possess an enormous amount of chakra, otherwise the natural energy would immediately overwhelm them. It is also important that the users’ bodies be strong enough to support the increased power. As you can see, I fit neither of those categories. I’m simply experimenting to satisfy my curiosity.”

Tobirama hesitated with his next question. “What about me? Would I be able to become one?”

She scrutinized him. “I believe you have the potential, but trying to achieve Sage Mode on your own accord is risky. I myself don’t really know much about it. What I know now, I learn in passing. Have you heard about the big three unexplored sage regions?”

"_Everyone_ has heard about the legendary Mount Myōboku, Ryūchi Cave and Shikkotsu Forest. Are you saying those are real too?”

“Oh they _ definitely _are. You just have to be persistent enough to go look for them. Though if you do train under those summons you might just end up looking like a toad, snake, or even a slug.”

Tobirama grimaced at the mental image. “Yeah… I’ll pass. I’d rather take my chance with self-taught mastery, thanks.”

The girl gave him a sly smirk. “Aw, I don’t know you care that much about your appearance, Tobirama-chan.”

The boy splashed water onto his companion. “I’m not. But I believe it's possible to achieve Sage Mode with our own power.”

She wiped the chilly water off of her face, her smile widening. “Wanna wager on that?"

Tobirama narrowed his eyes, his competitive side was rearing its head. "State your terms."

"You will master the use of senjutsu without external help before your eighteenth birthday. The loser will owe the winner three favors. What those favors entail will be negotiated in later days once we have a clear winner of the bet. What do you think?"

Tobirama shook her extended hand, the grip was surprisingly strong. "Deal! Just you wait and see. I will win. You have my word."

The girl smirked. "Very well. Keep in mind that you are always welcomed to back out of our agreement. This bet concerns your well-being, after all. Don't do anything _ too _ stupid, kid.”

“Yes, yes. It's not like I don't know when to stop. And stop calling me a kid, will you?! I’m older than you!”

She waved him off. “Whatever makes you feel better, Shrimp. Don’t think that I didn’t notice your attempt to distract me with questions instead of meditating.”

“What? But wasn't it your intention to push me into learning about senjutsu?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “That’s only like, my tertiary reason or something. First and foremost, mediation is a habit that can help you to alleviate stress. It's a good practice in the long run. Mental health is important, young man, so you're not allowed to worm your way out of this. Now start over,” she said placidly.

"But—"

"Start. _ Over _."

“Damn it!”

* * *

Madara curled on his futon, his back was damp against the cool surface of the wooden wall. His body ached, his cheeks burning with the flush of fever. His breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled.

“Brother, are you alright?”

Madara peeked at his visitor from beneath his blanket. Even under a light cotton sheet he was radiating heat like a brick right out of the oven.

“Yeah,” he croaked out. “It’s probably just the flu or something.”

Izuna frowned. “Are you sure? You’ve been under the weather lately and now you’re getting worse. Even Father is getting worried.”

“Positive,” grunted the older of the two. “You should probably go, Izuna. Everyone must be gathering at the hall right now.”

Izuna huffed. “I still don’t understand why I have to go. I mean, it’s just a wedding between Father and some lady from the Land of Demons. Her family is so... _ weird _ . I’m pretty sure their whole clan is a cult. _ Mōryō-sama this, Mōryō-sama that! _ Ugh, what a bunch of creeps.”

“It would be a beneficial alliance,” Madara replied. Hailing from a land plagued by Demons, the clan was bound to have some useful summoning abilities. Most importantly, they are _ rich _, in every way that the Uchiha was not. “Our mother is also no longer capable of bearing a child. I’d rather have Father marry someone else," he paused to cough, "rather than let Mother die in a fruitless childbirth just so that the clan may have another spare soldier.”

“That’s true…” mumbled the younger Uchiha. “Alright, Brother, have a good rest then. I hope you get better soon.” A mischievous glint then appeared in his eyes. “I shall deliver the Lady Mother my _ best _wishes.”

Madara smiled faintly. “Just as long as you don’t get caught.”

Izuna winked in a conspiratorial manner. “Don’t worry. I learned from the best.” The boy gently closed his bedroom door. “Eat your food, okay?”

Madara grunted his assent. As usual, he was given nothing but watery soup, diminishing his already-small appetite. He rolled onto his side, mindful not to put his weight on his tender arm, before moving onto a sitting position to gulp down his breakfast.

The Uchiha was bored out of his mind. He wanted to get up and do something productive, but all his body wanted to do was sleep with the curtains drawn all day. What was worse was that he couldn't seem to stop shaking. Sometimes it was rough, other times he could manage, but every time he'd get close to sleep, a new spell of violent shaking would force him awake.

Now finished with his food, Madara eyed his damp shirt with disgust. His last bath was barely two hours ago and now his body had already made his skin crawl. Madara hobbled onto the chest that stored his clothes and grabbed his work satchel, which was equipped with spare food, clothes, and weapons. He steadied his feet and did some light exercises, much to his body’s complaints, before heading towards his favorite creek.

It took him a little longer than usual to reach the small river, but the delay was definitely worth it. Madara submerged himself until he was knee-deep, the water flowing around his limbs and drinking his body heat. He sat at the bottom of the creek and happily soaked his hair. The water, green in color, darker in the shadows and paler beneath the sun, lapped against his inky hair.

“Oh my, a dead body!”

At the loud exclamation, Madara sputtered into the surface, his shaky arms poised for defense. Despite hearing the voice, he couldn't sense the person's chakra signature.

At the back of his mind, the boy considered crying for help, but then he remembered that he was alone and that there was no strength in his voice due to the damned flu.

“Kid,” called the familiar voice. “Chill out. I'm not planning to kill you just yet.”

Madara blinked the water from his eyes.

“You…”

The Uchiha glared at the interloper that had dared to disturb his peace. It was the weird girl from last time. The brat gave him a cheeky salute, crouching on the surface of the water.

"What do you want?" he snapped, but the heat was lost due to his hoarse voice.

"I'm just checking on my favorite Uchiha," replied Shikamaru with a saccharine smile. "Not that it wasn't expected, but you do actually look like shit."

Madara wrapped his arms around himself, feeling self-conscious of his state of undress and still begrudging the girl for trying to kill him weeks ago.

"Gee, thanks," he muttered sarcastically. "How do you know that I'll be here anyway?"

The time-traveler smirked. "A fortune cookie told me. Apparently there's a princess that might be in dire need of help in this part of the wood."

"Fuck off," snarled the boy.

“Oh boy… You kiss your mother with that mouth?” His eyes roamed over the clearing. It had a quite relaxing ambiance, exactly like how the Nidaime described it to be. “Nice spot, by the way.”

“Miss, for my peace of mind, please kindly go away," seethed the boy with fake politeness. "You’re ruining my day off.”

The Nara merely smiled, deliberately leaning into the boy’s person, looming over him. "Sure, sure. But before that…" A green hue surrounded his hand with a pulse of his chakra. "May I? Just a quick scanning. I meant it when I said that you look like shit."

Madara shrugged his shoulder in silent acquiescence, seeing no harm in the offer. He had been avoiding the clan's medics for weeks anyway. “Why do you care anyway?”

A slim hand pressed onto his shoulder blade whilst the girl’s glowing palm hovered over his lungs.

“I don’t. I’m simply doing this out of necessity. I'd rather not deal with unexpected surprises. There are bigger threats outside of the warring clans, Uchiha. One example of such threats is Dokuzetsu, a will-manifestation of an ancient celestial being that secretly instigates many events that shaped the [ shinobi ](https://naruto.fandom.com/wiki/Shinobi) world in order to secure its master revival, a god-like being that could bring calamities onto our world. I have been tracking its movements for quite some time and its last known location was among the Uchiha, when it possessed my exiled mother’s body.”

“Oh…” Madara grimaced, processing the new information.

Dark eyes scrutinized the girl's form, trying to gouge her intention. He wasn't sure whether to think that she was spouting nonsense or to confront the idea that the world might be in great danger, with only a little girl as its defender. They barely survived the clan wars as it was, nobody would be prepared to deal with outside threats.

The Uchiha quickly redirected his thoughts to the topic at hand. “_ That _ woman, huh? I knew there was something wrong with her.”

Shikamaru paused his hand, his face contorting to form a pained expression. “I assume my mother is no longer among the living then?”

Madara, feeling like he owed the girl an explanation, lifted his left forearm and showed the tanned flesh near his elbow. "It was self defense," he muttered. "She died quickly."

In other words, _ I didn't make your mother suffer, so don't exact your revenge on me. _

Shikamaru hummed in indifference, pressing on the tender flesh. His eyes were trained onto the boy's reactions. "When did that happen?"

Madara winced when the flesh was neatly cut open by the glowing hand, though it quickly knitted itself together, leaving no blemishes in its wake. He had also done the same thing weeks ago.

"About a month ago," he rasped.

Shikamaru frowned. He had an inkling on what Dokuzetsu was planning, and whose flesh the graft might belong to. He did not like it one bit.

"Aside from flu-like symptoms, swelling, and general discomfort, do you experience anything else? Did you ingest anything bad, perhaps become injured during your last mission?"

"I don't think so. I didn't sustain any injury, so I don't think I'm infected with anything. It's actually the first time I've become sick like this," he admitted.

"Does it hurt when you channel your chakra?"

The boy tilted his head, testing the flow of chakra in his arm. "Yeah, a bit."

Shikamaru leaned back, sitting atop the water. "Well… it looks like you're having an acute transplant rejection."

Madara pulled his arm back, almost cradling it. "What do you mean?"

Shikamaru took a moment to compose an explanation. "Hmm, you see… when a person receives an organ from someone else, that person's immune system may recognize that it's foreign because the person's immune system detects that the antigens on the cells of the organ are different. It's like forcing pieces from two different puzzle sets together, they just won't match."

"Oh… Am I not allowed to use my arm then?"

Shikamaru scrunched his nose, contemplating just how troublesome it would be to synthesize immunosuppressive drugs with his current technology, not that he knew the necessary formulas anyway. He was proficient enough with herbs, poison, and basic medical techniques (since they were mandatory for jōnin in his era), as well as whatever knowledge he managed to scrape by from Tsunade's notes in the Hokage office, but this kind of thing was completely _ not _ right up his alley. And even _ if _ he knew how, he would rather not help Madara—and by extension, Dokuzetsu—to achieve the rinnegan. On the other hand, if he could recruit Madara to follow his cause, the rinnegan would become very useful to seal Dokuzetsu, therefore removing the shinobi world's bane of existence forever.

"_ Technically _," Shikamaru emphasized, "single episodes of acute rejection rarely lead to organ failure. It should be safe to use your arm once you have abated the swelling. Regarding chakra use, I certainly don't recommend it, at least not until the graft has completely assimilated itself with your body. This might hinder your job as a shinobi, but you're still young, so there's plenty of time for you to learn new fighting styles, ones that don't rely on the use of both hands."

"I see…" Madara muttered.

Altering his fighting style shouldn’t be too difficult, if a bit time-consuming. It was the most logical option. He could already imagine his father's reaction, his anger if Madara ever revealed the truth. If he, the eldest son, became incapacitated, then Izuna would surely be put on the front line in his stead, which was simply unacceptable.

"Then… do you have anything that could speed up that process?"

Shikamaru already had a few medicinal plants in mind. The easiest to procure would be green tea leaves; the catechin in it possessed useful antiinflammatory properties. Cannabis was also an option, as it could suppress the hyperactivity of the immune system. Other active ingredients with similar immunosuppressive properties could also be found in other plants such as ashwagandha, liquorice, green chiretta, red sage, ginger, barberry, and turmeric; which should not be too hard to grow nor to steal. It all basically depended on how much the Uchiha was willing to pay him.

Shikamaru smiled. "Of course. Plants are my expertise. The real question is, how would you like to compensate for my service?"

Madara quickly catched where the conversation was going, despite his feverish haze. His clan’s financial situation had not been at its best for quite some time; and even if his family could spare him some money, he did not want this… _ mishap _... to be known by the Uchiha. By the time he had healed, no one would've realized that he was ill in the first place.

“You said you were looking for this creature, Dokuzetsu, yes? I can keep an eye for any sign of him among the Uchiha. I know that what I’m offering is not much, especially considering my condition’s sensitive nature, thus I’m open for bargain.”

Shikamaru rested his chin on his hand, still smiling. “How about an honest conversation?” he requested.

The boy raised his brows. “Honest conversation?”

Shikamaru nodded gravely. “I’ll be frank with you, Uchiha. A few years back, a technique which belongs to my clan has been misplaced into Uchiha Tajima's hand, despite the lack of interactions between our families; and not too long ago, my father, who worked in liaison with your father behind our clan’s back, suddenly passed away under mysterious circumstances.

"Everything that has and is happening right now—be it my mother's possession or your current condition, and possibly your father's decisions—are the results of Dokuzetsu's tampering. Last time, the creature latched onto my mother, but right now it might have already possessed someone in your clan—perhaps someone of no importance, perhaps the elders, perhaps even your father.

"As it is, I have a terrible feeling about our situation, but I still need to move forward. My objective is simple; that is, to retrieve my family technique and erase any sign of its existence in your clan. I don't want to drag them into this silent war, especially considering Dokuzetsu's fixation with the Senju and Uchiha. I want to cut our ties, once and for all. Would you be willing to help me with that, Uchiha-san?”

Madara maintained eye contact with the enigmatic girl, possibly a Yamanaka if her words were to be believed. He was growing curious and at the same time wary about the creature that she spoke of. Still, he found it hard to believe her, especially if she really were a Yamanaka. The whole lot of them had mastered the art of messing with people's heads. The girl's innocent face had only made him to be even more on guard.

Just like her, he had a bad feeling regarding his father’s costly pet projects. Tajima wasn’t a good accountant and the man was wasting their nonexistent money to invest in projects that in my Madara’s opinion did not even worth all the pain and effort. Nevermind the spy network project or Tajima’s private prison, their soldiers obviously needed more armors and weapons, _ dammit! _

“I don't think I can refuse your offer, considering the threat that you spoke of. Full disclosure though, I will not reveal any clan secret or any information that I believe might jeopardize my clan’s safety. Is that acceptable to you, Miss?”

“Naturally,” said Shikamaru. "Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return with your medicine in three days. I shall not impose your sorry self with my amazing presence any longer than necessary."

Madara rolled his eyes. "Tch, about damn time. Your sickening stench is getting unbearable."

"Says the one that's bathing in sewage water," muttered Shikamaru. "Has no one taught you to not carelessly dunk yourself in water? There are bunch of parasites lurking in Fire County's freshwater, waiting for idiotic hosts like you to latch into."

The boy huffed in frustration. "It's not like I do this everyday! I'm here to enjoy the forest’s quiet atmosphere, which you have thoroughly disturb, mind you."

Shikamaru straightened up and swung his feet towards the river bank.

"If you want some peace, then why did you come to an open space in the first place?"

The time-traveler rummaged through his plants stash and wrote short instructions on a piece of paper, choosing antipyretic and analgesic herbs for the Uchiha to use, then placed them on top of the boy's neatly folded yukata.

"Your fever is running quite high and you are obviously more irritable. Irritable shinobi makes a sloppy shinobi, and a sloppy shinobi is a dead man. Is your clan throwing a party or something?"

Madara scoffed. "We are welcoming a new addition into our clan, a woman hailing from the Land of Demons. All the commotions are giving me a headache."

Shikamaru hummed in a nonchalant manner, though his thoughts were starting to run wild. "The Land of Demons, you say… Is she, by any chance, a priestess?"

"I honestly don't know and don't care, but I've been told that she was rich."

“Spoken like a true gold digger,” Shikamaru snickered. “I swear they start getting younger these days. I pray that you land yourself a rich spouse in the future, Uchiha-san.”

Madara flushed, rapidly turning into an interesting shade of purple. “I’m _ not _a gold digger!”

“You sure about that, boy?”

Still laughing, Shikamaru narrowly dodged a barrage of jagged stones that were aimed for his head. Never in a million years would he imagine himself toying with the fearsome Uchiha. He supposed he had the boy's naivety to thank for that.

"Hey," he called out to the boy, "...wanna know my name?"

Madara stopped his assault, his dark eyes widening.

Now that Shikamaru thought about it, he realized that he hadn't told another soul his name for some years, not even Tobirama. He wasn’t sure whether he would ever be ready for that kind of vulnerability, because in this era where everyone was one's enemy, trusting someone else's with your name was akin to trusting them with your life.

Names were treasured goods. Names meant honesty. Names meant trust and acceptance. Names meant acknowledgement.

"My name is…"

Shikamaru gave Madara a genuine smile.

". . ."

“...a _ gold digger _.”

With his mouth hanging open in disbelief, the boy continued his attack with renewed gusto and hurled more rocks towards the source of his annoyance.

Having fulfilled his purpose, Shikamaru saluted and flickered out of the clearing, leaving the enraged boy and his echoing laughter behind him.

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

**Temple of Shion**

The temple was deathly quiet. A diffuse bluish light beamed through the pillared door, which made an eerie contrast with the white halo beaming from the brass sculpture on the central altar. The fragrance of incense was heavy and the sound of chimes could be heard in the distance. Four statues gazed mutely at Tobirama through their painted eyes. In the breezy evening, he was the only one standing in the courtyard.

The boy traced his fingers onto the relief sculptures on the wall. On the right was a relief depicting a woman that descended from the sky, a hunter was kneeling at her feet. On its left was the same woman, clothed in a bride's robe, standing besides the hunter. She taught the hunter’s tribe many things: how to chant at the sky for rain, how to read the patterns of the weather, how to burn incense to appease the deities for a bountiful harvest. The hunter’s tribe flourished and spread across the fertile land. Hungry for more power, the tribe used the knowledge bestowed upon them to summon a gigantic demon from another world, a demon named—

“Mōryō,” Shikamaru whispered ominously.

Tobirama shuddered and covered his tingling ears, fuming. “For the last time, Shishou... _ Do. Not. Talk. Near. My. Ears! _They are sensitive!”

“Oh, you poor ticklish baby—aargh, ow, what was that for?! _ Thou shalt respect thy masters _, ya know.”

"Then stop teasing me!" The boy huffed. “What happened to the tribe afterwards anyway? I can’t imagine the goddess being happy with them misusing her gifts.”

“Hmm… look at the inscription beneath this,” Shikamaru pointed towards the leftmost part of the relief sequence. “The characters used here are a bit different—archaic. I think it'll be worthwhile to learn them; might give your fūinjutsu an edge. Anyhow, in this bit they basically said, ‘_ Our god is an angry god. It will not let this injustice rest. It demands vengeance. _’

"Legends said that the goddess cursed this land, making it plagued by demons, before she returned into the mists of heaven. Her descendants, however, this country’s line of priestesses, are blessed with the power to banish and seal the demons away, thus they are highly revered among the shrine maidens, monks and common folks.”

“Huh… how fascinating.” Tobirama murmured.

The boy glanced over his shoulder, his red eyes widening when he registered his companion’s appearance. She looked older, like a teenager; with plain, easily forgettable features. “And somehow, amidst all of the chaos with the voracious demons, you managed to land a job as a miko.”

A few minutes earlier, Shikamaru had emerged from behind one of the statue's shadows, clothed in a pair of red hakama, a white kosode, and white and red hair ribbons. In his left hand was a gehōbako, a supernatural box that contained dolls, animal and human skulls, and prayer beads. On top of the box was a tamagushi, an offertory made from the sacred sakaki-tree branches.

Shikamaru grinned sheepishly.

"You see, I'm a very versatile individual. I can assimilate into whomever the situation needs me to be." The boy snorted. "And no, don't give me that look. I'm not deceiving the temple." _ Not too much, at least. _ "My witch moniker isn't just for mockery, if you must know. I actually _ do _ have some miko training."

Before a miko could perform shamanic service, there was a certain training to follow. The girl, still at a young age, had to undergo very intensive training so that she could be in control of her trance state. This would be done by rituals, including washings with cold water, and abstinence, which Shikamaru had done on a daily basis. The would-be-miko would also study how to communicate with the Gods and spirits. This was achieved by chanting and dancing, sometimes with the help of psychedelics, therefore the girl was taught melodies and intonations that were used in songs and prayers, something that Hotaru had drilled into Shikamaru's head and enforced with cane lashing for almost three years…

Well, perhaps insinuating that he had formal miko training was a bit too far-fetched after all. But it was not like he intended to be a full-time shrine maiden. Shikamaru did offer his services to random temples to build his reputation—mostly by immobilizing victims of spirit possessions during purifying rituals using Yamanaka and Nara ninpo—but he never actually stayed in one place. Being a miko provided him a convenient identity. It was simply one of the many faces that Shikamaru wore during his second life, just like how he used Asahi Abe as a persona for his more unsavory dealings. 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, _ Miko-san~ _ " Tobirama drawled derisively. "Now if you would be so kind, please explain why you dragged me _ all _ the way to the Land of Demons, into a remote temple in the middle of nowhere."

Shikamaru wordlessly formed a clone to keep guard before beckoning the boy to follow him.

"The temple's priestess has been afflicted by a powerful, evil spirit. She entrapped it inside her own body in order to purify it, but she's quickly weakening and needs outside help to seal the spirit away."

"Yes, yes, you've told me as much. That's why _ you _ are here. Why am _ I _ here though? You told me to prepare for battle and I did.” The boy gestured towards his armor and the sword strapped to his hip. “I’m sweating,” he grumbled.

“Why... you are here to learn of course. What else, do you think we’re doing a costume play? Like I said, we’re going on a field trip. Also, conceal your weapons, Senju.”

Tobirama sighed at the girl’s vagueness, but still sealed his weapons as instructed.

_ Field trip, my arse. _

Tobirama already held a questionable opinion regarding his master's sanity, and tonight that belief had only sunk even lower. “Are we going to fight the evil spirit, perhaps utilize fūinjutsu in direct confrontation? Is this one of those ‘_ every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better _’ thingy?

Shikamaru held up his hand to silence the boy. He took a sharp right turn and was greeted by armored soldiers guarding a door at the end of the corridor. Their leader, clothed in grey armour over a white kimono, bowed his head. His spatha glinted in the dark.

"Miko-san, we've been waiting."

Shikamaru bowed lowly. "My apologies for our tardiness. I came as soon as I received your letter."

"No need, Miko-san. It was I who summoned Miko-san on such short notice. The ritual has lasted for almost twenty hours. We all are worried for our priestess and her pupils’ safety. Our temple will be in your care, Miko-san."

“I shall try my best, Kusuna-sama.”

The man smiled faintly, his exhausted eyes were trained onto Tobirama.

“Please ignore the boy. I can vouch for him. He’s harmless, simply someone I took under my tutelage.”

The man stared some more, before reluctantly nodding. “Very well, Miko-san. Both of you may enter now.”

Shikamaru bowed again. “We’ll be on our way then.”

Inside the room was a woman, emitting a blinding aura, her long hair floated around her like a halo. Her arms were chained to the high ceiling and her legs to the floor. Red markings ran from the center of her forehead, looping under her eyes and forming circles before disappearing under her neckline.

Around her, shrine maidens and monks were chanting—their life forces and devotion channeled towards the priestess, powering and strengthening her. Forming a circle around the priestess, the older miko appeared to be in some sort of trances. Their eyes had rolled up into the back of their heads, leaving only the white parts to remain visible, but their movements were steady and graceful as they performed the sacred kagura dance—a dance meant to purify the spirit that was contained inside their mistress. 

Tobirama focused his senses on the priestess' chakra. There was something foreign and volatile mingling with her spiritual energy. He pried closer, grunting when feelings of dread, nervousness and pure angst instantly flooded over him in painful waves.

Shikamaru tugged the boy into the corner of the room and gently pushed him to sit on the floor.

"I will assist them in performing the ritual. You will stay here to watch and learn. Enter a meditative state and pay close attention to the priestess' chakra, observe how her light chakra and the chants affect that thing inside of her. I expect you to be capable of identifying many kinds of energies after this—natural energy, will-manifestations, spirits, all kinds of chakra." 

Shikamaru paused and nibbled his bottom lip. "Also, if it isn't too much of a problem, could you please make a protective barrier around the room?"

Tobirama nodded. "Sure, Shishou."

"Atta boy." Shikamaru ruffled the boy's hair, smiling. "Now sit straight and keep your bratty mouth shut."

The Senju heir swatted the offending appendage away, but not before giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I _ know _, Shishou. Now go."

Shikamaru walked away from his apprentice and shimmied into the gathering crowd. Still holding his artefacts, Shikamaru chanted loudly, singing in the old, unfamiliar language that the temple taught to all of its pupils. He had leached the knowledge from one of the temple masters during his last visit, using a modification of the Shindenshin technique that Ino had created years ago. Shikamaru barely understood the words, but that didn’t matter. What mattered were the harsh sounds, the repetition of incantations that sounded like spitting—primal, guttural, and savage. It sounded like a curse, like a condemnation.

Legend had it, the vengeful God that once roamed the land had cursed the Land of Demons into its present state by using the same incantations that were now ironically used by the priestess and her disciples to protect the common folks that inhabited the land and banish demons back into their realm.

Using his small and slim stature to his advantage, Shikamaru easily slipped through lines of monks and shrine maidens into the front of the altar. From there, he ducked under one of the dancing miko's arms and knelt in front of the priestess. Having maintained such a state for hours, the woman was clearly exhausted and low on chakra.

Whatever spirit that the priestess was battling against was one tough son of a bitch.

_ No matter _, he thought.

Shikamaru placed his gehōbako and tamagushi in front of him—acting as protective talismans of sorts—before he connected his thumbs, forefingers, and middle fingers into a circle, forming a Yamanaka hand seal and aiming it at the priestess.

"Shintenshin no Jutsu."

Having his consciousness hurled into someone else's body was a very peculiar experience, one that he would never quite get used to. The last thing he saw was his body falling into the cold, stone-hard floor. Once he opened his eyes, he was standing in what he assumed to be his target's subconsciousness. Beneath his feet was a gigantic glowing circle, with intricate lines that connected the priestess' feet and the creature that stood on the opposite end of the circle. 

The priestess stood with her back on him, clothed in a thin yellow dress that showcased the garish red markings on her limbs. A blue cloth hovered behind her and covered her arms, its end splitting and elongating into six sharp blades that dripped with foul smelling blood. In the distance, her opponent looked equally worse for wear.

Shikamaru assessed the spirit. It was a grey-colored mass, with sharp, jutting teeth, and red, spinning eyes. It had scaly, sagging skin; long, bloody claws that were attached to its ten limbs; and billowing violet hair. He observed the gashes that tore its skin open, then the wounds that the priestess had sustained. He glanced at the spirit, then the priestess, then the spirit again.

“The creature mimics your attacks, doesn’t it, Priestess-sama?”

The priestess did not spare him a glance. She did not even question how or why he had ended up inside her body. “Astute observation, my child. I have to admit that this creature is one of the trickiest demons I’ve faced so far. You should leave while you are still able. I shall divert its attention.”

Shikamaru puffed his cheeks and adopted his best high-pitched, whiny brat voice. “And let all of the bothersome efforts I’ve invested to come here and put on these troublesome garments be wasted for naught?”

"Kid." The exhausted priestess shot him an incredulous—borderline disgusted—look. "Get the hell out of here."

The creature snarled.

Shikamaru smirked, that reaction had just confirmed his hypothesis.

Slowly, he stepped back from the circle, standing a few meters behind the glowing shaman. “Say, Priestess-sama, aren't powerful demons grow stronger when faced with the darkness inside people’s hearts? I know you’re stressed and exhausted, so give up that iron-knuckle grip you have on excellence and just have fun for a change. There’s no fear when you’re having fun.”

A pair of fine, trimmed brows furrowed up and gears started turning inside the priestess' head. Shikamaru gave her an encouraging smile. Not long after that realization started settling in and the shaman gave him a look of understanding.

Still smiling, Shikamaru clasped his hands into a Rat seal and lengthened his shadows to bind the woman. “Relax and think of rainbows and fluffy clouds, _ ne _, Priestess-sama? I'm here to help. We can take care of it.”

Miko and monks alike chanted louder. Onslaught of happy memories played before his eyes and Shikamaru slammed the creature into the ground. Inside the priestess' body, the demon twitched and started to howl. It cursed up a storm, saying all sorts of horrible things; about defiling the maidens, about slaughtering the monks, about destroying the temple until no single stone was left standing. It projected Shikamaru horrible images of what it would do to his allies and comrades that were gathered inside the room.

With the image of his old team etched into his mind, Shikamaru pushed the demon harder, overwhelming it with his own spiritual energy.

The miko that encircled the priestess did not stop dancing; instead, their steps became stronger—sturdier. Inside, the demon grew weaker and weaker, and not long after that, against his will, the priestess started gagging like it was about to throw up. At the very last moment, Shikamaru released his binding technique, allowing the priestess to be in control of her body once more.

The priestess ripped her chains and clasped her hands together as purple smoke billowed out of her body, exactly the reverse of how it entered her. Before the demon could slip away, she started forming hand seals whilst chanting, "Hatsu. Jin. Kai."

The room lighted up as a seal barrier was erected around the demon. With a twitch of the priestess' finger, spheres inside the barrier engulfed the demon, forming a ball that got smaller and smaller in size with each incantation. "Shōzen. Mika. Dan. Raku."

The sphere ball and the priestess' chakra merged into one being in a brief battle of will. Having been purified, it slinked over the priestess' abdomen before sinking into it, absorbed by the priestess.

"Shō."

With that the ritual had ended. The priestess was herself once again, in complete control of her own mind.

The priestess swayed unsteadily on her feet, breathing heavily. Around her, her acolytes were still stuck in a trance, though not for long.

Shikamaru gritted his teeth at his horrible headache, but sucked it up in favor of catching the woman before she could fall, using their connected shadows to support her weight. He slipped his fingers beneath his neckline and the priestess mirrored his movement, taking off a bell-shaped protective charm tied around her neck—her omamori—before tossing it to Shikamaru, who deftly caught the amulet and hid it under his clothes.

"I’m sorry, Priestess," he murmured, "but I also have my own troublesome demons to deal with, and for that I need to borrow your power." Gingerly, Shikamaru lowered the exhausted priestess onto the floor. "I promise to return it to you later. Fingers crossed, yeah?"

Shikamaru flickered into the back of the room and grabbed a bewildered-looking Tobirama, before rapping his knuckles against the sealed door.

“It is done,” he announced.

A grateful smile broke over Kusuna’s haggard face. “What a relief. I know we can count on you, Miko-san.”

“Believe me, it was done through everyone’s collective effort. I simply gave the spirit a slight push,” Shikamaru demurred. “The Priestess would need an extended rest, so please send some handmaids to look after her holiness.”

Kusuna relayed his orders towards his underlings with a wave of his hand. “I assume you won't be able to stay then… As usual?”

“I’m afraid yes. I have other matters to attend to.”

Kusuna stared dubiously.

“You know... _ Stuff _,” he elaborated.

Kusuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “Haa… very well. Just remember that you are always welcomed among us. Your payment will be waiting for you at the back of the altar. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Miko-san.”

Shikamaru bowed demurely. “I’ll be on my way then—”

His clone exploded, its memories returning in painful onslaught.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out.

Everyone was instantly on guard.

Tobirama whispered into his ear. “What is it?”

Without thinking, Shikamaru briskly walked through the dark corridors, feet getting faster with each step he took before he finally broke into a sprint. Tobirama followed suit, a sword now strapped on his back.

“Shishou, what’s wrong?”

“No time to explain. Just—”

A fist of orange flame punched its way out of the main complex and they went flying with the shock wave. Woods splintered as smoke and fire rushed out. Thousands of pieces of stones and steel showered down in a deadly rainfall.

Shikamaru linked his hand with Tobirama, and with a burst of wind chakra, propelled their bodies away from the explosion, just in time before Tobirama activated his teleportation technique, making them swallowed by the void.

They reappeared a few miles away from the temple in a tangle of limbs. Shikamaru winced at the feeling of Tobirama’s knee against his stomach, with the armor that protected the boy’s shoulder smacking his tender cheek.

“Tobirama,” he bit out. “You okay, kid?

The boy rolled off of him, coughing. “Yeah. Just a bit winded. That damned gunpowder...”

Shikamaru sagged onto the forest floor.

“Nice work, Senju.”

In the distance, a lance-like ray of blue-white light shot up into the gathering dusk. An instant later, a huge ball of fire belched upward, flattening to form a mushroom-head of incandescent gas that rose and twisted into dark smoke, enveloping the crumbling temple.

* * *

**Ten Days Later**

"Where are you going, Shishou?"

With deft fingers, Shikamaru tied a bandage at the end of his shin. "Out."

_You've just returned_ _though_, the Senju thought.

Tobirama folded his arms, his back against the kitchen door. "Out where?"

The cabin had been relatively emptier today. Some of the dried and canned foods had disappeared, along with water and milk supply. Wherever it was that his master planned to visit, she certainly didn't plan to return to the valley for quite some time. Knowing her, probably not until her newest batch of poppy seeds had blossomed, ready to be harvested, which could take almost three weeks.

Shikamaru double-checked his weapons and equipment. "To the north."

Tobirama catalogued every place that might be of interest up in the north. "Is it another demon attack?"

Demon attacks had rapidly increased when the priestess of Demons Country was pronounced dead. Shikamaru was slowly growing haggard with the amount of demons that he had to deal with on a daily basis. Fortunately, the omamori that he stole from the priestess had made the sealing process easier.

"Thankfully, no," Shikamaru replied.

Tobirama scrutinized him. "Then why?"

Shikamaru contemplated his options. He usually always made sure to not involve Tobirama in his business, but his student was noisy at his best and could be downright obsessive at his worst. Telling him the truth was not preferable, but telling him half-assed lies would not work either. He did not want the boy to sense the flutter in his chakra, especially this up close. The boy was simply _ too _ good of a sensor.

"The Senju uses customized full armor, even the children, yes?"

Tobirama had full, fitted armor, several of them, in fact, if the variation in colors were to be believed. And not just him as the clan heir, other children had their own fitted armor too, quite unusual in this time period and economy. Not only that, in formal occasions, as seen by that one time Tobirama bailed out of a clan meeting, the Senju wore light colored clothes with their crests stitched on them. Light colored clothes needed higher maintenance compared to darker colors; ergo, more money.

"Yes..." the boy trailed off, not yet comprehending his point.

"The Uchiha does not," Shikamaru pointed out.

Sometimes the Uchiha clan head and his heirs would wear one, sure, but even then they didn't use full armor. From what he gathered when he spied on them during some skirmishes, the shoulder, arm and forearm protectors were usually missing. That, _ and _ the fact that they mostly used dark-colored, lacking variation, therefore cheaper attires.

"We're wealthier," Tobirama inferred, catching on quickly. "Or at the very least, less conservative with our money. So what? Are you wondering where their money goes?"

Shikamaru shrugged. "More or less."

The Uchiha were the Senju rival clan. In war, if one side employed the former, then the opposing side would surely employ the latter's service. And if Tobirama were to be believed, the Senju shinobi's wages weren't exactly cheap, thus it was logical to assume that the Uchiha would also be paid at a similar rate. 

Shikamaru was not sure if the Uchiha applied frugal habits into their lifestyle, or perhaps survival of the fittest philosophy—i.e. those who could not survive without protection did not deserve to live at all—but he knew for sure that they were a prideful bunch. Though they might not care enough to flex their clothes to their sworn enemy, using armor for extra protection was just a simple common sense.

Spawning human children was not exactly an easy feat, considering the long gestational period and the additional time that would be needed to train them into functioning soldiers. Also, any general worth their salts had been using armor to induce subtle psychological effects since the dawn of time, especially in a well-maintained army.

Even after their clan head's union with a supposedly rich family, Uchiha soldiers were still not equipped with protective armor. Perhaps it was a deliberate decision on their part, to make it as if nothing had changed.

During their last encounter, Madara had complained about his demon-worshiper stepmother. It was what had led Shikamaru to investigate the Land of Demons in the first place. But then someone had breached the main temple and almost killed the high priestess. She was extremely lucky that the hall that she was in was covered in protective seals, enabling her and those inside the room to survive the worst of the blast.

Officially, the priestess was dead, but that was simply a ruse to lure the perpetrators into a false sense of security, at least until the priestess' guards figured out the person behind the attack. The only reason Shikamaru was even aware of this was because he had returned to the temple once Tobirama could no longer feel foreign presences inside the temple.

Tobirama pursed his lips. "Does this interest arise due to the temple attack, because I said the explosion matches the Uchiha's MO?"

"Partly," Shikamaru admitted. "But I'm more wary of the new matriarch. I was told that she hailed from the Land of Demons. Considering the present situation, it's not too far fetched to deduce that her clan, and by extension the Uchiha, have a hand in all of this."

"My father and I have been wondering about that too. He's quite paranoid about the demons' emergence, actually. I suppose Shishou must have a lead on something big then…? Because why else with the sudden reason to leave, right?"

Shikamaru already had a bad feeling about where this was going. "Get on with it, Snow White."

Tobirama ignored him. "You're not impulsive and very unmotivated about almost everything, so whatever it is must've been something worthwhile…" The Senju shrugged. "Good enough for me. When do we leave?"

Ha, Shikamaru fucking _ knew _ it. "You're not going anywhere, princeling."

"Would you prefer if I stalk you instead, Shishou? You must have known by now just how stubborn I could be. I won't be in your way and I won't be a burden, I promise. In fact, you wouldn't even notice I was there."

Shikamaru sighed, for once actually regretting his laziness. He knew he should've left at dawn. So troublesome...

"What about your family? Your duty?"

Tobirama waved his concern away. "I'm technically doing my duty to my family by helping you. My cousins also encounter those bothersome demons during their missions. I could leave a modified clone in my stead if that makes you feel better. The modified version is enforced with seals and blood, thus it's quite durable and shouldn't dispel easily. Besides, it's not like I haven't spent most of my free time with you anyway. Think of it as a remedy for that lousy field trip you dragged me into."

Shikamaru lazily grabbed his kettle and moved towards the stove to make some calming tea. Now that he thought about it, the Senju had been lingering around his cabin for an alarming amount of time—the valley was practically his second home. Shikamaru probably should’ve paid more attention to the little shit instead of having his clones babysit him. Now there was no way for him to get out of this. Running away or tying the boy up was simply not worth the effort. Where was the alcohol when he needed them?

"Should you even be doing that? You've just begun to store your chakra inside the byakugō seal. Aren't you drained of chakra? You don't know what you might encounter along the way."

The boy smirked. "Actually, I've found a way to divert a portion of that built-up chakra back into my normal reserves. How do you think I manage to use Hiraishin despite the drain? Besides, I have a big reserve for my age." He shrugged. "Anything else?"

Shikamaru measured the tea leaves, inwardly resisting the urge to face-palm. A brief peak showed that Kaguya was lounging near the window. "What about My Precious?"

Tobirama scoffed, crowding closer to his space at the kitchen counter. "Oh please, don't insult me with such a weak excuse. That cow hates us—_ you _, especially. She would have a blast with us gone. She should be fine as long as she didn't eat any of the poisonous plants, and trust me, she won't."

Shikamaru gestured to the boy to sit on the chair. He then slouched against the table next to him and crossed his legs. "Does your insistence to go with me have anything to do with the reason you came to me in the first place? I'm not leaving forever, Senju. But even if I do, I've actually taught you all the necessary bits that would be needed to revive the dead. You simply have to find the red thread, as always."

"Of course not. You are _ way _ more interesting than that. I genuinely want to see you in action. You're very fascinating, Shishou."

The boy shifted so that they were facing each other, his eyes shone with genuine admiration.

"And with all due respect, Shishou, I have followed you around two months and all of your biology lessons have enlightened me enough to know that what I'm wishing is impossible to achieve. I can't biologically revive dead people and that's okay. I'm aware that I need to move on and accept reality, eventually. Honestly, the only method that might be somewhat feasible is by summoning the souls of the deceased—kind of like reversing that stupid exorcism ritual at the temple—and then temporary binding those souls into living vessels by using their DNA as anchors and—"

The boy stopped mid-rant.

"Oh."

Shikamaru rested his cheek against his palm, smiling.

“You were saying...?”

"Huh. Was that the reason why you dragged me into that God awful temple…? Sure, I've seen evil spirits with my own eyes, but _ souls _ actually exist…? What the hell..." The boy started scribbling furiously on his notebook, a look of wonder etched on his face. "Damn, that's not a really bad idea. Thank you, Shishou."

"You're welcome, my apprentice. Now get to work."

Silently, Shikamaru pivoted away and with a quick movement, grabbed his satchel from the floor. He would have made a move on the door, if not for the sudden surge of chakra and the appearance of arrays of seals on every surface of the building, casting an eerie purple glow in the air.

The man-turned-child turned around to face his protege, fuming, very much impressed but at the same time absolutely not amused. At all.

“Tobirama…” he growled, its menacing effect lost due to his body’s high-pitched voice.

Said protege grinned, sheepishly scratching his cheek and smearing bits of inks onto his face.

"Forgive me, Shishou. But you're not going anywhere without me."

Sighing, Shikamaru stomped his way onto his rickety chair and flicked the boy's forehead.

"Ack!"

Shikamaru dropped his satchel on the table and slumped against it. He _ really _needed that drink right now. "You’re lucky you’re still cute, kid. I swear I’ll punch you when you’re older."

He cursed when the kettle suddenly whistled.

Tobirama chuckled and condescendingly patted Shikamaru's shoulder. "Don't worry, Shishou, I shall serve the tea for you even though you're a magnanimous jerk. You're welcome."

The time-traveler groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story. Thank you for your kudos. You really make my day.
> 
> I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.


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